Sickened Soul
by Lady Charity
Summary: Blades may beat fists, but both succumb to merciless plagues. Even in the case of a demon barber. slight Toddvett and ToddLucy. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**T****o tell the truth, this story's format is gonna be a tad...weird. At least, to me it is. **

Mrs. Lovett climbed up the rickety stairs that led to Mr. Todd's barber shop,balancing a bowl of steaming stew and a slice of bread on a silvery tray. It was nearing the dinner rush for the pie shoppe, so Mrs. Lovett decided to give Mr. T his dinner earlier.

_Bu' wos the point?_ a little voice in her mind whispered. _It's not like he ever eats it, anyways. _

**He sometimes does,** Mrs. Lovett argued.

_Maybe a bite or two. Wha' are you trying t' do, caring for the man like 'e's your 'usband? Or is tha' wha' you're 'oping for?_

**Oh, be quiet,** Mrs. Lovett grumbled to herself. Tuning out the bothersome voice inside her head, she nimbly opened the door.

The room was dark and dank as usual, with the typical scent of shaving cream and just a pinch of blood, but only if you concentrate hard enough. Mr. Todd was gazing at the shattered mirror, fingering his silver barber blade tenderly. He didn't show any acknowledgment to Mrs. Lovett. Nonetheless, she smiled brightly and stepped in.

"'Ello there, Mr. T!" she sang. "I've brough' your dinner."

He didn't make a sound or utter a single word. Mr. Todd was so silent that noisy activities like opening a creaking door or killing a person was completely hushed. He began polishing his killing demon, his eyes flitting from her reflection on the mirror to the tiny picture frame on the vanity.

"Mr. T, your dinner?" Mrs. Lovett pressed on.

Sweeney Todd didn't answer. He never did. He remained polishing his precious friend, staring at the tarnished picture frame. Lucy's and Johanna's smiling faces seemed to pierce his heart and tear his soul apart. He didn't even spare a glance at Mrs. Lovett.

Mrs. Lovett sighed, moving placing the tray onto the nearby table. "Mr. T, you never eat. T'is not 'ealthy, not eating anything. If you want t' kill the Judge, you're going t' 'ave to be alive and well, you know."

A cacophony of silence followed. Mrs. Lovett awkwardly shifted her weight from one foot to the next. She hated seeing Mr. Todd so miserable and sullen, so she wracked her brain for any kind of cheerful conversation that had nothing to do with pies or barber knives.

"Mr. T, shouldn't you be wearing your jacket?" asked Mrs. Lovett. "S'awful cold ou'side, and it would be terrible if you caugh' yourself a cold." Indeed, temperatures had dropped lower than usual in London, and a nasty illness had been slinking its way through closed shutters and chinks between bricks. Even poor Mrs. Mooney had a running nose recently.

She didn't expect a reply from Mr. Todd. And that's what she got.

* * *

Mrs. Lovett dutifully displayed the heavily pie-laden trays to the ravenous crowd, who whooped joyously. She beamed as half-starved Londoners scarfed down her pies, sighing in satisfaction, and belching their compliments like a bullfrog. The cheery atmosphere made her feel warm inside, despite the cold weather. Happiness bubbled inside her as she practically skipped from one table to the next, serving the famous pies to the customers. 

"Toby, be a dear and give tha' man another ale, won't ya?" Mrs. Lovett shouted to Toby. The petite boy was barely visible in the whole crowd of people flooding the pie shoppe, but Mrs. Lovett knew he was probably swimming his way through the mess of people and fetching a bottle of ale (hopefully, he would overlook the gin and not steal it from her cupboards like last time).

"Ma'am!" Toby's fragile voice cried out from the loud din. "We're almost sold ou'!"

Mrs. Lovett secretly beamed to herself. Pies were flying out of the oven like crazy, which meant that hundreds of pound notes replacing them. Just as Toby informed her of the lack of pies, a young man traipsed up the stairs to Mr. Todd's barber shop. Mrs. Lovett's grin widened.

"Don't worry, dearie," she hollered, adding a joyful spring to each step. "We'll get fresh supplies soon."

* * *

Mr. Todd rubbed his temples, gritting his teeth. A dull but aching throb pounded his head which absolutely irked him to no end. He coughed violently, intensifying the headache by tenfold. His throat felt dry and coarse like a desert on fire, and his head spun and ached. He leaned on the moth-eaten barber chair for balance, breathing heavily. Just breathing felt like torture for him, and it always ended with hacking coughs. Mr. T closed his eyes, trying to shove away the dizzying spell that plagued him. 

Mrs. Lovett was right. It was extremely freezing tonight. It felt as if he was frozen in a cube of ice. His eyes glanced at the black jacket he had thrown carelessly over the vanity. He slowly regained his posture and made to slip on the jacket.

Suddenly, the familiar tinkling of the brass bell sang in his ears before he could even reach the vanity. He whirled around to see a figure of a person. A man, perhaps, coming for a shave? He couldn't tell, his eyesight was now smudged and blurred.

"Come here for a shave, lad?" Mr. Todd asked (the person was too tall to be a woman).

"Just that," smiled the young man. He seated himself on the mechanical monster as Mr. Todd laid the white smock over the customer. The craving for blood surged inside him like frothing magma. He could feel the blade in his hands twitch with excitement and yearning as he smeared the thick cream over the victim's chin and neck. He could already see the crimson blood spraying from the man's neck and painting the air with the luscious red, he could feel the warmth of the blood that burned his skin.

"If it's not too much to ask," chirped the man. "I'd like it if you wouldn't leave any stubble around the cheek."

"Don't worry, boy," leered Mr. Todd, his voice lined with excitement. "It'll be the closest shave you can ever get."

But suddenly, Sweeney's throat tightened and seared, as if a thousand knives were piercing it. His lungs seemed to have shriveled up as he heaved for air. His head was now throbbing with immense pain as fatigue poisoned his limbs. The violent coughs were all caught up in his throat and forcefully shoved out, suffocating him. Every cough felt rough and coarse against his throat, tearing it. The barber knife slipped from Mr. Todd's grasp as he clutched the chair for support. His head was spinning so terribly he could barely think or see, or even hear. The customer's shouts of anxiety and concern were slipping from his mind, like inaudible echoes. Bile crept up his throat as he struggled for air and his head felt light and faint.

Before he knew it, he plunged into a sea of darkness.

**I'm either on a roll or in a ditch. Two non-oneshot Sweeney fics in the course of two days?! I'm going to have a lot of updating to do. Of course, this one's going to be pretty shorter (I'm estimating five chapters?) than the other one (which may be longer, but I have no idea). **

**Feedback is greatly appreciated! **

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	2. Chapter 2

**I'd like to thank Awahili, MandiMalice, Wicked R, Dragnotchi, xlawa, Verity Strange, smashing, Christine Erik, PhantomVarg, and niki-chan2 for reviewing! It makes my day to see that people read my story. **

The crowd of Londoners started to thin now that the dinner rush was coming to an end. A couple of stragglers remained at their tables, hooting with laughter at their own jokes, guzzling down bottles of ale and shoving pies down their throats. Mrs. Lovett felt tiredness cloud her mind as she dusted flaky crumbs off the table. She promised herself a nice bottle of gin tonight. Toby seemed tired too, moving so slowly it was as if he were struggling in syrup as he swept the floor. Mrs. Lovett yawned, her eyelids growing heavy.

"Mrs. Lovett!" a voice suddenly cried. Mrs. Lovett yelped and clumsily crashed onto the ground. Cursing under her breath, she scrambled to her feet to find a gasping young lad before her.

"Wos' the ma'er, love?" Mrs. Lovett demanded, all desires of sleep whisked away. Wasn't this the same boy who went up alone to get a shave? How come he was still alive?

"It's Mr. Todd, he's unconscious!" the boy answered, pointing upstairs. "He just suddenly collapsed!"

Mrs. Lovett immediately held her breath, her eyes wide. A thousand questions raced in her head. What happened to him? Was he sick, or hurt? She tossed her rag aside and hastily followed the young man up the stairs.

"Toby, take care o' the customers!" she ordered before disappearing up the stairs, leaving Toby to drown in puzzlement and uneasiness. When Mrs. Lovett approached the barber shop, she wrenched the door open, nearly murdering the little bell.

Mr. Todd laid motionless on the gray wooden boards, his breathing heavy and frightening. Mrs. Lovett swooped down on the ground at his side, testing his forehead. It was burning hot despite the freezing temperatures, but he was trembling uncontrollably. Mrs. Lovett felt her heart slam against her chest with worry, gripping Mr. T's limp, cold fingers tightly.

"Boy, 'elp me ge' a cot from me bedroom, won't you?" muttered Mrs. Lovett to the young man. "S'at the farthes' door t' the righ', you'll find a little couch, or cot, or wha'ever it is and bring it 'ere."

The man nodded anxiously before quickly bounding down the stairs.

"And tell Toby 'e'll sleep in my bed!" Mrs. Lovett added hastily. She didn't want to send Toby to the cold floor because Mr. Todd needed his bed. She quickly shifted her attention to Mr. T. His face was deathly pale that made death gray in comparison. She shuddered at the thought of it as she quickly covered Sweeney with his jacket, cradling his limp figure. He felt so thin in her arms, like a clothed skeleton. Her anxiety heightened to an extreme point as Mr. Todd's breathing became shallower.

"You be'er not die on me, Mr. T," she muttered, stroking his pale cheek. The door flew open, revealing the young chap hauling the sofa-cot through the door.

"'Elp me pull 'im up on the couch, please," Mrs. Lovett said quickly. She could feel her nonchalant façade crumble away as panic invaded its barriers. Together, they gently lifted Mr. Todd from the cold floor and laid him on the cot. Mrs. Lovett nearly gaped: Mr. Todd was light, much too light for his own good.

"Thank you dear," she murmured, brushing tangled strands of hair from her face. "We owe you so much. Could you tell Toby t' close the shop and come up 'ere?"

The boy nodded and rushed down the stairs. Mrs. Lovett pulled her yarn shawl off of her shoulders and draped it carefully on Mr. T, but with no avail. He still shivered, and every time he shook it sent a twinge of apprehension into Mrs. Lovett.

"Wos' wrong, ma'am?" Toby's voice rang out. Mrs. Lovett whirled around to see the frail boy at the doorway. "Wos' wrong with Mr. T?"

"The poor man's sick," breathed Mrs. Lovett. "Toby, be a dear and ge' the doctor, won' you?"

Toby nodded briskly and scampered down the stairs, vanishing. Mrs. Lovett grasped Mr. Todd's slack hand tightly, swallowing tears. Seeing Mr. Todd so vulnerable and weak pierced her heart. The man has already went through so much, why couldn't illnesses leave the poor soul alone?

"I'll be back," she whispered to Mr. Todd, softly pecking him on the forehead. "Jus' going t' ge' some blanke's, all righ'?"

She slipped out of the room and quietly tip-toed down the stairs, fearing that any sound she made would maybe worsen Mr. T's sickness. Gathering some spare quilts from her bedroom into her arms, she clambered up the stairs, nearly tipping from the weight of the patchwork quilts.

"There you go, Mr. T," she whispered, tenderly swathing his shivering body with the blankets. "Don't worry, the doctor's comin', 'e's on 'is way, I'm sure..."

Mrs. Lovett gently laid her head on his chest, closing her eyes. His shallow breathing was jagged and wheezy and stabbed Mrs. Lovett's soul with fear and anguish. She hated how his forehead was searing with a terrible fever, how his sickened body shivered even under layers of blankets, how he had no strength anymore.

For her, it felt that if her Mr. Todd was weak and ailing, she too felt absolutely vulnerable.

**Hmm...I keep rereading it and something doesn't feel right. Sorry for me always ranting like this, but I have a very picky taste and sometimes deject my own writing. Please review :).**


	3. Chapter 3

**AHHHHHHHH!!!!! I MESSED UP THIS CHAPTER! I WAS REPLACING ANOTHER STORY BUT ACCIDENTALLY REPLACED THIS CHAPTER AND I DON'T HAVE ANOTHER COPY OF IT!!!!! I'M SO SORRY IF THIS DOESN'T MATCH UP WITH THE OLD STANDSARDS, BUT I MESSED UP SO TERRIBLY!**

_Where the 'ell is tha' bloody doctor?_

Mrs. Lovett stroked Mr. Todd's sweaty forehead, tapping her foot impatiently. She felt rather tetchy towards Toby for taking such a long time, but her irritation quickly sapped away. The poor soul was just a lad, she couldn't expect too much from him.

"Mrs. Lovett?"

Mrs. Lovett gasped and whirled around. "Mr. T! You're awake!" she exclaimed. She quickly jumped to her feet. Mr. Todd was conscious, but very weak. His white face was dotted with sweat and he smelled of fatigue and illness.

"What's going on?"

"You're sick, dearie," Mrs. Lovett explained, tucking the blanket under his chin. "Toby ran off t' ge' the doctor, so you jus' stay put, all righ'?"

"I don't need the doctor," growled Mr. Todd. "I'm completely fine." He struggled to sit up, but was suddenly caught up with a dizzying spell. He clutched his head and uttered a soft moan. Mrs. Lovett quickly pushed him back onto the couch.

"Now, don't be so stubborn, Mr. T! 'E's not goin' t' do anythin' bad, jus' goin' t' see wot medicines ya need and wote'er."

"Doctors don't do anything," Mr. T argued angrily. "They don't tell you anything you don't know. All they do is prescribe useless elixirs and watch you die."

"Don't say tha', love," Mrs. Lovett said, but worry pricked the back of her mind. What if the doctors didn't do anything to help Mr. T? Or what if they offered the wrong medicine? She chewed her lip but swallowed her worries. She peeked out of the window and her face lit up.

"There they are!" Mrs. Lovett said.

The Doctor was the sort of fellow who would don fashionable spectacles out in public even if he didn't need them. He'd walk as straight and as stiffly as a rod, as if he was playacting a high and mighty king in his own little world. He never left his palatial home without an embroidered handkerchief and leather slick gloves. Mrs. Lovett hated men like him, but there was no doubt he was the best Doctor around.

"Doctor! I'm so glad you're 'ere!" Mrs. Lovett stuttered. "Please, please 'elp Mr. T! 'E jus' collapsed on me today, and 'e's burnin' with a fever-"

The Doctor pushed Mrs. Lovett aside and wrenched open his leather bag, He pulled out an assortment of odd, brassy instruments. Mr. Todd glared at them apprehensively and made to avoid the Doctor's check-up, but it was too late. The Doctor swooped over him and proceeded to examine the sick man. Mrs. Lovett turned away, unable to bear Mr. Todd thrashing and yelling.

"Will 'e be all righ', ma'am?" Toby asked nervously, casting a sideways glance at Sweeney.

"O' course 'e will, love," Mrs. Lovett said absentmindedly. She wasn't too sure f she could believe her own words.

"Ya don't think it's a disease, do ya, ma'am?" Toby questioned, his small hand clutching hers. "The tinker boy said tha' there's been a bad case o' diseases lurkin' around 'ere in London."

"S'not a disease, Toby," Mrs. Lovett quickly answered. "O' course it isn't. Wot kind of idea is tha'?"

Toby bit his tongue uncomfortably, and Mrs. Lovett felt apprehension swell inside her. What if Toby was right? Could Mr. T really have a disease?

The Doctor finally straightened and smoothed the crinkles on his coat. Mrs. Lovett gripped Toby's hand so tightly she was surprised they didn't snap off. Her heartbeat raced as the man cleared his throat, a sign of sheer sympathy plastered on his face. She gulped, wetting her lips apprehensively.

"Mrs. Lovett," the Doctor said gravely, as if he was a priest in a funeral service. "Mr. Todd has pneumonia."

Mrs. Lovett's word came crashing down in an instant. "Wot did you say?"

"He has pneumonia," the Doctor repeated rather impatiently. "The dastardly cold weather must have got to him."

"Go downstairs and take a bath, Toby," Mrs. Lovett ordered Toby. "Take the couch with ya." Toby glanced nervously at Mrs. Lovett and hesitated before retreating downstairs with the couch. Mrs. Lovett swallowed, a lump bulging in her throat.

"Pneumonia?" Mrs, Lovett croaked. The Doctor nodded. "Is it deadly? 'Ow can we cure it?"

"If he takes proper medicine, and if I check on him every now and then, yes," the Doctor said, fishing his bony hands into the bag. He withdrew a small corked bottle with an unidentified thick liquid sloshing inside. Mrs. Lovett cringed at the sight.

"He'll have to take a teaspoon of this twice a day," the Doctor explained, handing Mrs. Lovett the medicine. "And not to mention, a tablespoon of this every day." With his tapering fingers, the Doctor plucked out a skinny, dusty bottle of bland liquid from its carrier. Mrs. Lovett accepted the medicine with shaking fingers.

"And 'e'll get be'er with these?" she said, her hand trembling so terribly the bottles threatened to slip from her grasp and shatter.

"He'll improve," the Doctor said. Mrs. Lovett's eyes widened. "Ah, yes, I forgot one." He pulled out another small bottle. Mrs. Lovett frowned at it.

"Wot is it?"

"Sedative," the Doctor said simply. Mrs. Lovett gaped at the man. "He's not one who would obediently stay in bed."

Mrs. Lovett opened her mouth to speak, but reluctantly closed it. She couldn't help but silently agree with the man. She took the sedative and tucked all of them in her baggy apron pocket.

"I'll be on my way now," the Doctor announced. Mrs. Lovett felt reproach creep up on her. The man just comes, gives her bottles of mysterious liquids, and then leaves? "I'll be here every now and then to check on Mr. T. Just give him the medicine and make sure he rests."

"All righ', doctor," Mrs. Lovett replied coldly. The Doctor, not noticing the cold bite in her voice, nodded stiffly and exited the barber shop. Mrs. Lovett heaved a sigh of relief before rushing to Mr. Todd.

"Mr. Todd?"

Sweeney groaned, his voice raspy and cracking. She gently lifted him up, aghast at his slenderness. He seemed as light as Toby.

"I'm gonna move ya t' me bed," Mrs. Lovett whispered. "C'mon, I'll support ya, I'll get ya downstairs and you'll be able t' rest-"

"I don't need rest," Mr. Todd muttered, squirming away from Mrs. Lovett. "I can go on perfectly well by myself, thank you very much."

"Wot are ya talkin' abou', Mr. T?" Mrs. Lovett argued. "'Ow are ya not sick, eh? Restin' isn't gonna kill you."

"That's what you think," Mr. Todd growled cooly. He clambered onto his unsteady feet, and fear clenched Mrs. Lovett's heart as he swayed. "I don't need your help."

"Ha!" Mrs. Lovett snapped. "Ya don't think ya need me 'elp? Fine, I'll tell ya wot. If you can walk downstairs without usin' the banister or me 'elp, and not pass out or anythin', then I'll let you go. But if you stumble or break down coughin', you're goin' straight t' the bed and takin' the medicine."

"Agreed," Mr. Todd smirked. "I'll walk downstairs, and I'll prove to you I'm quite well." He staggered to the stairway without trouble, and Mrs. Lovett bit her lip. She could easily tell that Mr. Todd wasn't going to make it down the stairs.

Suddenly, Mr. Todd collapsed onto all fours, coughing violently. Mrs. Lovett gasped and rushed over, her mind screaming with anxiety. She should've never made that stupid bet! Now Mr. T was going to kill himself! Mr. Todd refused her helping hand and struggled to rise. More hacking coughs choked out of Mr. Todd's mouth, leaving him curled on the ground, his throat and chest searing with pain. Dark blood sputtered out of his mouth and rained on the floor. Mrs. Lovett uttered a soft scream as she hastily attempted to help Mr. T onto his feet. His head pounded with extreme pain and he gasped for air, but the coughs throttled him. His vision blurred and his body was wracked with unbearable agony.

"Tha's it, Mr. T, you're going downstairs and restin', and tha's final! No more bets or deals or anythin'!"

Mr. Todd didn't attempt to fight back, which worried Mrs. Lovett greatly. She gently pulled Mr. Todd onto his feet and supported him as he stumbled down the stairs. Mrs. Lovett pushed him onto the bed, but he didn't lay down.

"Mr. T, you're restin', remember? Don't tell me ya plannin' t' be a backslider."

"I'm not sick. Just tired," Mr. Todd said casually. "I just need a sit-down and I'll be fine."

"You was coughin' out blood jus' a few seconds ago!" Mrs. Lovett cried desperately. "You're burnin' with a fever, ya can barely walk! The Doctor says ya 'ave pneumonia! Pneumonia! People _die_ from it! Doesn't that worry you?"

Mr. Todd gazed at Mrs. Lovett with an unreadable emotion. He cocked his head, smirking slightly.

"What difference does that make?"

"So much difference!" Mrs. Lovett snapped. "Didn't ya 'ear me? Ya can die from it!"

"But if I just idly slumber in bed, the Judge could just decide to get a shave and find out I'm not there." Sweeney's voice rose with anger. "And if a silly little cold is going to get in my way of vengeance-"

"Well, it isn't going t' 'elp if ya are abou' t' give the Judge a shave and then drop dead from pneumonia!" Mrs. Lovett retorted. "And then tha' won't go accordin' t' plan, would it?"

"With luck, my corpse would spread the disease to the Judge and he'll die from it too."

Mrs. Lovett groaned. This man was the most stubborn being to walk on the planet! She sighed, a crude idea whispering in her mind. She rummaged in her apron pocket, discreetly gripping on the tiny bottle.

"All righ', you win. But jus' drink some medicine, all righ'? Jus' a lil' bit o' medicine, and you will be on your way."

Mr. Todd raised his eyebrows but didn't respond. Mrs. Lovett licked her lips tensely as she poured a small spoonful of liquid into a cup of water, watching the two liquids swirl together. She fretfully handed unsuspecting Mr. Todd the water, who impatiently downed it in one gulp.

"Happy?" he growled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He climbed onto his feet, and Mrs. Lovett stiffened. "I'm going up-" He suddenly froze, his eyes wide with comprehension. His sight was so blurred that it was as if he was underwater. His limbs felt dulled and numb, and his legs felt brittle. Weakness poisoned his body and Mr. Todd stumbled. Scorching anger surged inside him as he groped for Mrs. Lovett's neck. Mrs. Lovett yelped and leaped away.

"What did you put in that water?" he snarled, his voice dwindling.

"S-sedative," Mrs. Lovett stammered, her voice cracking at the end. "Ya need it, Mr. T. Jus' a lil' nap. Ya 'ave t' get better."

Mr. Todd growled in anger and suddenly jerked without warning. Mrs. Lovett watched fearfully as Mr. Todd clutched his forehead, heaving for air. Did she put in too much? Mr. T dropped to his knees, wheezing and coughing, before he crumpled to the ground motionless. Mrs. Lovett felt hot tears well in her eyes as she pulled Mr. Todd's limp form onto the bed. She pulled the blankets over his body and apologetically kissed him on the forehead. His face was contorted with hurt and betrayal, which drove a spear of ice in Mrs. Lovett's heart.

"Ma'am?" Toby tentatively entered the room. Mrs. Lovett whirled around and forced a sad smile.

"'Ello, dearie," she murmured. She patted the small couch that Toby dragged down. "C'mon on, now, you go off t' bed."

Toby stubbornly shook his head. "No, ma'am, you take it. I'm fine on the floor, I've slept in places far worse before. You can take it."

Mrs. Lovett felt her affection towards Toby strengthen. "I'm not tired, Toby, I don't need t' sleep. But you're a growin' boy, and ya worked 'ard today, runnin' the shop and ge'in' the doctor. Go on, sleep."

"All righ'," Toby said solemnly. "But I'll sleep on one side, so if ya want to sleep, ya can sleep with me."

Mrs. Lovett kissed Toby on the head, her heart burdened with both warmth and guilt. This boy was much too good for her. Toby crawled onto the couch and Mrs. Lovett tucked him in. His eyelids drooped as the fire in the fireplace dimmed into bronze ambers. Mrs. Lovett hummed softly as she stroked Toby's dark hair.

"Ma'am, can you tell me a story?" he mumbled sleepily. Mrs. Lovett nodded and searched in her mind a story that wasn't plagued with hate and violence like the world around her. She soon realized with a start that she only knew one story.

"There once was a 'appy family, a wife, a 'usband, and a son, and they all lived by the sea..."

**I'm sorry if the last chapter 3 was much better than this. I will make sure never to make that mistake again.**

**Review and get a pie! **

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	4. Chapter 4

**Mrs. Lovett's Pie Shoppe would like to thank you for the reviews you gave them and hope you enjoyed your pies :)**

There was nothing but a tangle of misshapen figures swirling around him. Faraway voices moaned as if they were dying, forming a ballad of pain and melancholy. There was no living soul anywhere. He was all alone.

Mr. Todd whirled around, panic swarming in his mind. Where was everyone? What was this place? The horrific moaning grew louder and louder, droning out Mr. T's pounding heartbeat or uneven breathing. Brutal colors and shapes electrocuted through the air as if a knife slashed the scene, bleeding revolting hues.

Suddenly, a silhouette started to morph from the figures. Mr. Todd squinted his eyes to identify the person, but they still remained anonymous. The human reached out a gnarled hand, pointing a tapering finger at Mr. T. Sweeney froze, unsure of what was going on.

"You killed me!" the voice screeched. Her voice seemed to tear and scrape the air painfully, but there was a thread of familiarity weaving through it. Mr. Todd's eyes widened.

"Lucy?" he breathed.

"YOU KILLED ME!" she yowled. Her spider-like fingers swiped at him, leaving dark scars on his pale skin. Mr. Todd gasped and gripped her wrists before she could lash out at him again. Her face was still in the shadows, but Mr. T could feel her eyes burning in his skin.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded. "Lucy, it's me, Benjamin!"

"You're not Benjamin," she moaned, struggling to wrench away from him. "You _killed_ Benjamin! You _killed _me!"

Mr. Todd stiffened, his grip on Lucy's wrist slackened. "I never killed you. Lucy, what are you talking about?"

"You left me...you _ABANDONED _me! You left me with Judge Turpin, left me to _DIE!_" Lucy screamed. The words pierced Mr. Todd's heart like an ice sword. He slowly released Lucy and stumbled back, breathing heavily. "Why, why, _why_? I loved you! I LOVED YOU!"

"I'm sorry, Lucy, I'm sorry!" Mr. Todd pleaded. He reached out to pull her petite body close and gasped. Lucy's body was finally shown, but it was completely grotesque. Her skin was slick with blood that oozed from her pores. She looked like she was a melting wax doll drowning in a sea of blood. She screamed and thrashed, blood dripping like rain from her fingers. His outstretched hand grazed her cheek and it burned with pain. Suddenly, rough hands grasped Mr. Todd's arms and wrenched him away from his dying Lucy.

"No! Let me go! LUCY!" Mr. Todd yelled.

"Benjamin! Benjamin! BENJAMIN!" she bawled, crying rubies that painted her pale cheeks. The pool of blood started to spread, staining Mr. Todd's shoes and soaking everything in its presence. Lucy rocked back and forth, wailing and clutching her head.

He struggled and screamed for Lucy, but the unknown captors dragged him farther and farther as Lucy slowly sunk in her own pool of blood. Mr. Todd howled in fury and loss as the captors hurled him to the ground and beat him, kicked him, whipped him until his blood intertwined with Lucy's...

Mr. Todd awoke shouting, his whole body on fire. He bolted up, drenched in cold sweat, and was suddenly embraced. Mr. Todd breathed heavily, clutching whoever it was that was holding him close. He closed his eyes and breathed in the person's flowery scent, comfort slowly surging through his tired limbs. He didn't know who it was, or if this was all a dream, but Mr. Todd didn't care. He rested his forehead on her thin shoulder, choking back sobs.

"Lucy...Lucy..." he moaned, and was interrupted by another fit of coughs. The person hushed him, her voice floating in his ears like a feather.

"S'all right, Mr. T," the voice murmured, her warm breath tickling his cheek. "S'all righ', s'only a nigh'mare...only a nigh'mare, nothing real..."

"It is real," he choked. "It's all real...I killed her...I betrayed her...Lucy..."

The two were enveloped with silence. The woman hugging him rocked him back and forth, not unlike a mother soothing a child. Her small hands rubbed Mr. T's crouched back.

"You didn't kill 'er, Mr. T." Mrs. Lovett's voice was thick with tears. "It wasn't your fault, Mr. T...go back to sleep. Everything will be be'er when you wake up..."

Mr. T didn't respond or protest. He obediently lay back down on the cold sheets, tiredness clouding his mind. He felt smooth fingers stroke his forehead gently, like a rhythmic lullaby. Mrs. Lovett's faraway voice crooned an unfamiliar song that was soon forgotten when he woke up.

"Nothing's gonna 'arm you, not while I'm around..."

**Heh. Hehehe. Die, Sweeney, die. **

**I'm adding new flavors to the pie list, so here's the complete list:**

**Raspberry, blueberry, apple, peach, chocolate pudding, Oreo cream, lemon meringue, blackberry, strawberry, meat, rhubarb, mince, steak-and-kidney, custard, banana cream, cherry, quiche, pumpkin, pecan, sweet potato, and key lime. **

**Review and you get a pie! Simple as that :D. Of course, if you want a pie, don't forget to specify that you want one... **


	5. Chapter 5

Mr. Todd suddenly awoke from his uneasy sleep, hissing in pain. His head and chest stung terribly, as if someone stabbed it with a knife over and over again. Mr. Todd heaved for air, every breath searing his lungs. He clutched the sweaty quilts, begging the pain to go away. It was as if the medicine Mrs. Lovett forced down his throat worsened the illness. He twisted and turned, tangling himself in his quilts, his body wracked with unbearable agony. He stifled a groan, squeezing his eyes shut, begging the pain to just go away.

"Benjamin..."

A soft, wispy voice floated in his ear. Mr. T stiffened and held his breath. He knew that voice...he could recognize it from anywhere. He blearily opened his eyes, the dim glow of the oil lamp. But even in the weak beam, Mr. Todd could identify the person.

"Lucy?" he whispered, his voice husky and weak. Lucy smiled and stroked Sweeney's cheek. Her touch was faint and lukewarm, but to Mr. Todd, it felt like the softest cloud in the sky.

"My love," Lucy whispered. "Are you all right?"

Mr. T didn't answer. Instead, he feebly grasped Lucy's small hand and kissed every perfect finger, breathing in her scent of tulips. Her skin was so soft and smooth in his hand, like a pearl. He didn't even bother questioning why she was here, and how it was possible. All that mattered was that Lucy was here with him.

"My dear Benjamin," Lucy whispered, pecking him shyly on his forehead. Her lips were as soft as flower petals and a jolt of warmth and serenity washed over Mr. Todd.

"Lucy," he murmured, running his calloused thumb over her small knuckles. "My beautiful Lucy..." He was at a loss of words, unable to speak or tell Lucy how much he loved her, but Sweeney knew that the love, the purest, truest love was never announced.

"Please try to get better, love," Lucy pleaded, fingering Mr. Todd's chest. Immediately at her touch, the pain seemed to vanish, or at least muted. She was his healing angel, a forgiving and loving blessing to the world. "Please? I hate seeing you suffer so. I can't bear it."

"I'm sorry for distressing you," Mr. Todd rasped humbly. Lucy shook her head and laughed softy, her voice like the stars chiming in the night. A pained smile flitted her features as she clasped her snowy hands around Mr. Todd's ghostly ones.

"Don't be sorry, darling Benjamin," she said. "Just try to get better, all right?"

"I can try," Mr. Todd offered faintly. He immediately regretted his words when melancholy glazed over Lucy's crystal eyes. "I'll try my hardest. I'll get better for, Lucy. For you."

Lucy smiled sadly, brushing her gentle fingers across his chapped lips. Sweeney kissed them lightly when they passed.

"I'm sorry for leaving you," Mr. Todd whispered, guilt boiling inside him. Lucy cast a puzzled glance at him.

"What do you mean, Benjamin?"

"I'm sorry for deserting you, letting you die," Mr. Todd choked out, tears coating his throat. Lucy gasped and shook her head vigorously, clutching Sweeney's hand tightly.

"None of it was your fault, Benjamin! None of it! I don't blame you, no one does!" Lucy said earnestly. "Don't blame yourself!"

Mr. Todd didn't answer. Instead, he reached out a shaking hand to caress her face, to reassure himself she was there. Her skin was as soft and sweet as silk, and as pale as a moonlit swan. Lucy bent down and kissed him on the lip. Her touch sent electrocuting jolts throughout Mr. Todd's body. Love and bliss flowed in him like an abundant waterfall. He closed his eyes, drinking in the serenity and love that flooded his body. He wanted time to stop, so he'll be with Lucy forever.

When he opened his eyes, Lucy was gone.

* * *

Mrs. Lovett wrung her hands nervously, pacing. The Doctor had returned to check on Sweeney again, and Sweeney was so sick and weak that he didn't have the strength to fight him off. This worried Mrs. Lovett immensely. Since when did Mr. Todd surrender? The stuck-up Doctor even glanced at her pityingly when checking on Mr. Todd's health, which sent an even more stronger sense of fear in Mrs. Lovett. 

"'ow is 'e?" Mrs. Lovett asked anxiously when the Doctor closed the parlor door behind him.

"He's not getting any better," the Doctor admitted. "Getting worse, actually."

"Why? Is it the medicine? Is sumthin' wrong with it?" she demanded fiercely.

"I've given Mr. Todd the correct prescription, madam, I do not like being accused of making a mistake," he said coldly. "But it seems as if Mr. Todd's immune system was weak to begin with. Has he been doing any intense work or been in unhealthy conditions?"

Mrs. Lovett's mind wandered to the bitter work in Australia. "'e might've."

"That is a problem," said the Doctor shortly. "Now, you're telling me he's been coughing blood out, also? And his fever's are extremely high, and he has extreme pains?"

Mrs. Lovett could only manage to nod, her throat too swelled up to speak.

"And you're also telling me he has been hallucinating?"

"...yes," murmured Mrs. Lovett. "'e was jus' talkin' to someone who wasn't there. 'e couldn't 'ear me when I tried t' speak t' 'im, kept on talkin' to an imaginary person..."

The Doctor nodded, nudging his glinting spectacles up the bridge of his crooked nose. "I'm afraid that Mr. Todd must be hospitalized."

"Wot?" breathed Mrs. Lovett, her head spinning.

"His condition is too extreme to be kept at home," the Doctor continued. "It's best that he should be cared for by professional doctors all the time, and not just once a day."

Mrs. Lovett tried to swallow the lump in her throat and choked. No! Mr. T couldn't go to the hospital! Hospitals were places that the condemned were sent to. It would make him worse, with all those other ill people running about!

"Is there another way?" she croaked.

"I'm afraid not," the Doctor replied. "I'll send a carriage over to pick him up. In the meantime, you should help pack his things and get him ready to go."

Mrs. Lovett could only manage to nod. She clutched a nearby table for support, her eyes welling with tears. It was only after the Doctor left when the hot tears were given permission to gush out of her eyes. She collapsed onto the bench, wiping away the endless trail of tears.

"Mum?" a small voice chirped beside her. Mrs. Lovett blearily glanced up, her vision blurred. She could pick out the figure of Toby in the swirling hues of tears and reality. "Wos wrong?"

"Toby, dear boy..." Mrs. Lovett reached out and embraced the small boy. "Mr. Todd's too sick t' stay 'ere. 'E's going t' the 'ospital...I'm scared for 'im."

Toby didn't respond. He didn't know how. There was nothing he could really say to cheer her up, or to wipe the tears away. And Toby desperately yearned to make Mrs. Lovett smile again, to wipe away those wretched tears. Inside, he writhed with anger at whoever caused her such sorrow and pain. He was angry at Mr. Todd for being sick and worrying her, he was mad at the Doctor for raining such bad news onto her.

He was angered most of all at himself for not being able to do anything.


	6. Chapter 6

Mrs. Lovett discreetly slipped back in the parlor, thanking her lucky stars that the room was dark. The shadows obscured her blotchy face and red eyes as she fumbled around for a bag to pack Mr. Todd's things.

"What are you doing?" a gruff, weak voice demanded. Mrs. Lovett wearily turned around to see Mr. T struggling to sit up.

"Don't si' up, love. You'll tire yourself," she said softly, rummaging through her rubbish.

"I'll be fine," he muttered, clutching the bedstead. "What did the doctor say?"

"'e said nothing ou' o' the ordinary," Mrs. Lovett replied casually.

"You're an awfully bad liar, Mrs. Lovett. I know you're lying, or at least hiding something," he growled.

"And wot makes ya think tha'?" Mrs. Lovett protested.

"It shows on your face."

Mrs. Lovett's hand automatically fingered her red nose and inwardly cursed Mr. Todd and his sharp eyes.

"Fine. Fine. I'll tell the truth," she muttered, yanking a spare carpet bag from underneath a bundle of laundry. "The Doctor, 'e thinks your sickness 'as changed fo' the worse. 'e says you got t' go t' the 'ospital."

"I don't need a hospital," Mr. Todd argued.

"Tha's wot you said abou' me 'elp, and now look at you!" Mrs. Lovett snapped. "You can barely sit up, less than talk."

Sweeney didn't bother arguing. Mrs. Lovett was stubborn, too stubborn for anyone's good. He rested his head in his hands, his forehead searing with fever. Mr. Todd couldn't deny that he was...not in the best health, but surely it wasn't that serious, was it? He had faced much worse in Australia.

"Well, this is splendid," he muttered sarcastically. "I get sent to some jail all over again, and the Judge could just come by one day and find out I'm gone and-"

"S'not a jail 'ouse, Mr. T," Mrs. Lovett said.

"They lock you up in a room and won't let you outside to do whatever you want. I have a feeling that it's somewhat related to a jail, Mrs. Lovett."

Mrs. Lovett was silent as she tucked the bottles of medicine into the bag. She threw a couple of blankets and Benjamin Barker's old clothes in.

"Besides, there's another thing how hospitals and jails are related," Mr. Todd grumbled. "You can easily die in both of them."

"Don't say tha', Mr. T!" Mrs. Lovett immediately replied. "No, no, 'ospitals are places where people ge' be'er."

"That wasn't the case for your Albert," Mr. Todd reminded. "It probably wasn't the case for Lucy, either." At that, his voice dwindled into a thread of silence. Mrs. Lovett pressed her lips together, clenching the carpet bag's leathery handles. She knew that deep inside, she knew Mr. Todd was telling the truth about hospitals. But she dearly wished it wouldn't be the case for him.

"Mrs. Lovett, when or if I die-"

"Mr. Todd, don't talk abou' 'orrible ma'ers like this!" cried Mrs. Lovett. "You won't die from this silly illness, so don't say you will."

"I never specified what kind of death I was talking about," said Mr. Todd coolly. "For all you know, I could be planning ahead in the future when I'm eighty-three and in my deathbed. But you're right. I was talking about now. Don't interrupt me, Mrs. Lovett," he threatened gravely when Mrs. Lovett indignantly opened her mouth. "I'm not finished yet. If I die earlier than I prefer, kill the Judge for me."

Mrs. Lovett blanched. "Dearie, you're out o' your 'ead. O' course you're going t' survive and kill the bloody ol' Judge! 'ave you gone crazy?"

"I'm completely sane," Mr. Todd said solemnly, his inky eyes following Mrs. Lovett's actions as she shoved other necessities into the bag.

"You 'ave a funny way o' showing it," Mrs. Lovett muttered darkly.

"How so? I'm being sane by being sensible. I am accepting the fact that I could die, and humbly asking you to carry out my vengeance. I don't see how that is being daft."

"Don't talk abou' this, all righ'? The carriage should be comin' any time soon, so you should ge' ready..."

"Perhaps the Judge would come right this instance...maybe I could kill him first and then go on as I planned."

"Wot do you mean, planned?" Mrs. Lovett asked suspiciously. "Mr. Todd, wot were you plannin' t' do after you killed the Judge?"

The corners of Sweeney's lips twitched in a smirk for a millisecond. "Pass on the same way as Lucy did. Poetic, isn't it?"

"Mr. T, no!" gasped Mrs. Lovett. "You were thinkin' of killin' yourself? You've got a proper family now, with Toby and me, and even Johanna if we're lucky! Wot about Johanna, eh, Mr. T? Jus' gonna leave 'er withou' knowing 'er father?"

Mr. Todd didn't respond. He stared down at his pale hands, his eyes hardened with a pained glaze.

"I think we shan't meet again," he muttered. "It'll be too hard for both of us...we can't accept each other so quickly and live happily ever after. There is no happy ending for me. Not after..." He rested his head on the half-singed wallpaper, closing his eyes. "And she'd be beautiful, and look to much like...her."

Mrs. Lovett felt a lump in her throat swell as tears swam in her eyes. Pain pierced her heart as Mr. Todd was plagued with misfortune, pain, all the terrible things in the world. Never see his daughter again because of the terrible Judge...slowly dying because of a nefarious sickness...no one deserved this! She vigorously shook her head, tears gushing out of her eyes.

"I can't stand it!" she wailed. "I can't bear seein' all these bad things 'appen to ya, Mr. Todd! Please...don't be sad, Mr. T...not evr'ythin's 'orrible! Please don't be sad..." She fought the tears, but they cascaded out of her eyes anyway, staining her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Mr. T...for evr'ythin'..."

She wiped the tears from her eyes, her body shaking. Mrs. Lovett couldn't tell what Mr. Todd was doing, but she didn't care now. Time had stopped, and all there was were the tears she shed and her.

Suddenly, a cold hand awkwardly rubbed her small back. A jolt ran through Mrs. Lovett when she realized it was Mr. Todd. He had crawled out of bed despite his illness to comfort _her_. Not Lucy, not Johanna, _her_, Mrs. Lovett. Affection and hope fluttered in Mrs. Lovett's heart.

"Stop crying for me," his strained voice whispered. "Don't." He wracked his brain for anything else to say, but couldn't find anything. But to Mrs. Lovett, it was enough. She laughed softly, her voice laden with tears.

"I'm bein' silly, I am," she sighed softly. "M'sorry, Mr. T...you should ge' back t' the bed, Mr. Todd. We don't want you ge'in' any worse..."

Without warning, a deafening banging engulfed the air. Mrs. Lovett's head whipped around at the direction of the sound to see the Doctor and a prim carriage behind her. She sighed and tenderly wrapped a quilt around Mr. Todd.

"The carriage's 'ere," she breathed, helping Mr. Todd onto his shaking feet. "Don't worry, the 'ospital won't bi'e...you'll ge' be'er and be able t' kill tha' wicked Judge, all righ'? Jus' ge' be'er, tha's all you 'ave t' do."

Mr. Todd said nothing, but he wasn't able to anyways. His throat seared with pain as if there was a battering knife ramming constantly in it. Supported by Mrs. Lovett, he staggered outside to the carriage. The sun glimmered like copper and bathed London in a sea of liquid bronze, twinkling like an eye of a mischievous person. Mrs. Lovett choked back tears as the Doctor led Sweeney into the carriage, where he succumbed to an uneasy slumber. At the whisk of the horse whip, the carriage trotted through the cobblestone sidewalk and diminished from sight.

Mrs. Lovett wasn't sure how long she stood there, her heart empty and her soul mourning. It seemed like an eternity until she dragged her feet back into the pie shoppe, dutifully kneading the pasty dough, her eyes tainted with tears.

**Want a pie? Want it? Want it? Review and get one! **

**Menu: raspberry, blueberry, apple, peach, chocolate pudding, Oreo cream, lemon meringue, blackberry, strawberry, meat, rhubarb, mince, steak-and-kidney, custard, banana cream, cherry, quiche, pumpkin, pecan, sweet potato, and key lime.**

**I rewrote this chapter a little bit to make the characters more...in character. I noticed that both Sweeney and Lovett were rather OOC. If you look closely, you could tell that Mr. Todd is gradually growing more and more sarcastic...:P**


	7. Chapter 7

The past few days had been without doubt the longest and tormenting days of Mrs. Lovett's life. If serving pies and taking care of Toby wasn't already enough! But now her mind was swarming with frantic thoughts of Mr. T, and if he was getting any better. Numerous times had she tried to visit the hospital and find out, but those silly little nurses wouldn't tell her a thing. Even customers commented lightly on how she was more dismal than usual, and that the atmosphere was a tad gloomier than before. Mrs. Lovett would simply smile sweetly and respond "Mus' be ya imag'nation, dearie," and then discreetly scowl behind their backs. What would they know about the distress she was going through, those unfeeling and pitiless louts?

Even Toby seemed miserable, which broke Mrs. Lovett's heart even more. It was as if the last tiny light in her bleak life was snuffed out. He strained to plaster a sad smile on his face whenever Mrs. Lovett was around, but out of the corner of her eyes she could see that smile sap away from his face like rain trickling down a window. She sighed to herself as she mercilessly pummeled the lumpy dough on the table. She swore to put an end to all this melancholy, starting with Toby.

It was nighttime when Mrs. Lovett slowly flipped the sign to 'closed'. The meat supply had run out (considering Mr. Todd wasn't around to refresh the supplies), so the store was forced to temporarily close. Mrs. Lovett couldn't help but secretly celebrate. She couldn't concentrate at all during the past week, her mind floating off somewhere else and her body only controlled by practiced routine. She dragged her feet to the parlor to find Toby curled up on a chair, his eyes lingering on the dancing flames. She approached him and sat down, stroking his fine hair.

"Toby, dear, wos' wrong?" she asked quietly. "You've been down all week, and it makes me 'eart break tha' you're not 'appy."

Toby quickly glanced up at her, his wide eyes glimmering in the firelight. "Mum..."

"Ya know you can tell me anythin', love," Mrs. Lovett crooned. Toby sighed, resting his head on Mrs. Lovett.

"S'not meself I'm worried abou'," Toby mumbled, his voice muffled. "But Mum...you've been un'appy ever since Mr. T wos sent t' the 'ospital...it jus' makes me sad that you're sad and I can't do nothin' bou' it."

"Oh dearie..." A pang of guilt struck Mrs. Lovett as she cradled the young boy. So it all came down to her? She was the one making the poor boy so miserable? She inwardly hated herself. "Don't be sad jus' because I'm sad! I'm jus'...worried, is all, abou' Mr. T and..." She sighed. What was there to say? She couldn't order Toby to stop worrying, because Mrs. Lovett had no control over his feelings. "I'm jus' scared tha' 'e won't ge' be'er."

"Do you trus' 'im t' get be'er?" asked Toby.

Mrs. Lovett didn't speak for a while. "I'm not sure," she admitted, absentmindedly rubbing Toby's back. "I'm not sure if I trus' 'im t' be 'ealthy again..." Mrs. Lovett wasn't sure if she could trust him at all with anything.

"I think tha' if you stop and wonder if you do trust in someone, you lost trust in 'em forever," Toby said.

"Where'd you 'ear tha'? Sounds like somethin' from a book," Mrs. Lovett said, astonished at the wise words tumbling out of the young lad's mouth.

"It is," admitted Toby. "I jus' twisted some words and quoted it t' impress you."

Mrs. Lovett chuckled and embraced Toby tighter. Such a sweet comfort he was, probably the only person around that cared about her opinion.

"'ow abou' this," she said, sitting straight. "We'll both stop bein' so depressin' and go out t' relax ourselves, aye? Ya know, walk around the town, buy ourselves some nice toffees, or some o' those treacle tarts you enjoy, all righ'?"

"All righ'," murmured Toby, his eyelids drooping with sleep. Mrs. Lovett smiled tenderly as she laid the exhausted boy into his bed and pulled a blanket over his small body. Toby was like her lifeline in this wretched world, when Mr. Todd wasn't around. She didn't want the poor soul to fade on her too.

* * *

"You all ready, Mum?" asked Toby, pulling a yarn hat over his head. 

Mrs. Lovett smiled and nodded, wriggling her fingers through the lacy gloves. She double-checked her small purse (well, Pirelli's old purse, that is) for money before exiting the Pie Shoppe, hand in hand with little Toby.

The weather was friendlier today in London. The copper sun actually emitted warmth this time, sending a tingling jolt crawling up Mrs. Lovett's skin. London was bustling with so many people it was enough to fill the world. Toby's eyes were flooded with excitement as he obediently followed Mrs. Lovett through the exotic markets.

"Roses! Fresh roses! Only two blooms for a penny!"

"You need any milk today, mistress?"

"Ripe strawberries! Won't get them anywhere else for a lower price!"

"Don't listen t' 'em, Toby," Mrs. Lovett whispered to Toby as he gave a sideways glance at the strawberry man. "Strawberries aren't in season till a lot la'er. All 'e's got are shriveled li'le blobs."

Toby nodded solemnly as they ambled through the affable market. People greeted the baker and her assistant graciously and offered their various wares. Mrs. Lovett smiled politely and bade them farewell.

"Would ya like sumthin' t' eat, Toby?" she asked. "'ow abou' those mince pies?"

"No pies, thank you," Toby responded civilly. "No one makes be'er pies than you, Mum."

Mrs. Lovett felt her pasty cheeks blush and there was a spring in her every step. "Well then, 'ow abou' a tart? I 'eard the treacle tarts 'ere are delicious."

"I s'pose," Toby agreed, not fully knowing that a tart and a pie was pretty much the same thing. Mrs. Lovett quickly purchased a small box full of treacle tarts. Toby was astonished to discover that he was given all four treacle tarts, for the boy seldom saw even two breads together. In his gratitude, he used the two pennies he had to present Mrs. Lovett four roses. Mrs. Lovett felt her heart swell with joy as she let the silky petals tickle her nose. Never had anyone shown her this much gratitude before!

Unfortunately, good things never lasted long for Mrs. Lovett. Moments after Toby gave her the delicate flowers did a young messenger came scampering towards her. At first, Mrs. Lovett didn't realize he was coming for her until he came huffing before her. Mrs. Lovett felt her blissful spirit evaporate in thin air.

"Wos' wrong, dearie?" she asked the messenger, clutching the stems of her roses tightly.

"I'm from the 'ospital, ma'am, and they sent me 'ere t' fetch ya immediately!" the messenger answered. Mrs. Lovett's heart sank to the bottom of her shoes. What happened now? Was something wrong with Mr. Todd? Toby's eyes darted nervously from the messenger boy to her.

"Why do they want me?" she asked.

"I dunno, ma'am, they jus' said t' bring ya t' the 'ospital as fast as possible!" Impatience lined the boy's voice, and Mrs. Lovett knew that this was urgent. She bit her lip before handing Toby the flowers.

"Take these back 'ome and find a nice jar o' wa'er t' put them in, all righ'?" she asked softly. "Don't worry, love, I'll be back as soon as possible. We'll continue our trip la'er."

"S'all righ', Mum," Toby mumbled, shaking his head. "I 'ad fun today. You stay with Mr. T, 'e'll need you more. I'll be fine."

Mrs. Lovett's heart shattered. She opened her mouth to say anything to make the poor boy feel better, but nothing came out. She didn't even have the chance. THe messenger dragged Mrs. Lovett towards the hospital, leaving Toby alone in the market.

**Toby said he quoted a book. I was influenced by one of the best books ever, La Sombra Del Viento (aka The Shadow of the Wind), where the main character quoted a writer saying "When you stop and think whether or not you love someone, you've stopped loving them forever." Of course, that story takes place in 1940s, so obviously that wouldn't work. So we're just gonna pretend another book said that. :)**

**Review and get a pie. If you don't review, a poor adorable boy gets whipped in the factory. Please, think of the children. **

**Menu: raspberry, blueberry, apple, peach, chocolate pudding, Oreo cream, lemon meringue, blackberry, strawberry, meat, rhubarb, mince, steak-and-kidney, custard, banana cream, cherry, quiche, pumpkin, pecan, sweet potato, pudding, stargazy, shoofly, peanut butter, sugar, and key lime.**

**I added new flavors :D **

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

Mrs. Lovett rushed into the hospital without a second thought. She was laden with worry as the messenger dutifully led her up the winding staircase, past the corridors where unknown voices moaned and sobbed. She shivered, even if it wasn't cold.

"Where's Mr. T's room?" she asked.

"Third floor, ma'am," the messenger replied as they clambered up another flight of stairs. It wasn't long until Mrs. Lovett spotted two solemn statues hovering over the doorway. She crept closer to discover that they weren't statues, but actually doctors conversing as silently as ghosts. She nervously approached them, casting sideway glances at the young messenger. The doctors didn't even notice her presence until she cleared her throat. They whipped around towards the direction of the sound to see Mrs. Lovett trembling anxiously, biting her lips.

"Ah, Mrs. Lovett, you finally arrived," said one of them, his voice as deep as a bullfrog. "Thank you Matthew." The messenger nodded so deeply it could've been considered a bow before dashing down the stairs.

"Why am I 'ere for?" she demanded. "Wos' wrong? Is it Mr. T? Is 'e get'in' worse?"

"He's neither worsening nor getting better, but that wasn't why I summoned you here," said the doctor. Mrs. Lovett felt indignant. Summoned? That word made her sound like a slaving mongrel.

"Then for goodness' sake, tell me already!" she grumbled. "You doctors jus' drag me over 'ere and not even tell me why."

"Please be patience, madame," said the other doctor."We were wondering...how well do you know Mr. Todd?"

"Wot?" Mrs. Lovett was thoroughly confused.

"When we were treating him, we found deep scars on his back," he said. "Burns, blades, scars everywhere."

Mrs. Lovett's eyes widened. Scars? Since when were there scars on Mr. T? She suddenly remembered: Australia. She felt sick to the stomach at the thought of it. What kind of hell was Australia?

"We tried asking him, but he wouldn't tell us," said Doctor Bullfrog.

"And you were hoping that I would know?" finished Mrs. Lovett. The two doctors nodded and stared at her expectantly. Mrs. Lovett shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She definitely had a hunch how Mr. T got his scars, but she wasn't going to reveal his secrets!

"I 'ave no idea," she finally said. "I didn't even know 'e 'ad scars." At least that part was the truth. "May I visit 'im?"

The doctors exchanged glances and seemed to discuss the matter with each other with their eyes. Finally, Doctor Bullfrog turned to Mrs. Lovett and nodded.

"Do you think that you could try to wheedle the truth out of him?" asked Doctor Bullfrog. "You being his friend, I would think he would trust and confide in you."

_Mr. T doesn't trust anyone,_ Mrs. Lovett thought sullenly to herself, but immediately brightened when the doctor unlocked the door. She stumbled in, gazing at the room. There were wire skeletons of beds, a thin mattress balanced on the twisted wire that sagged with its weight. Pale patients were sprawled limply on the feather mattresses like rag dolls, their eyes staring at invisible points around the room. It reeked with death and illness that smelled worse than the half-rotten humans in the bakehouse. Mrs. Lovett wrinkled her nose, scanning around for Mr. T.

There he was! He was the only patient sitting up, the snowy quilts tangled around his body and half of it dangling off the bed. Mrs. Lovett sighed. Of course; Mr. T would refuse to show any sign of weakness even in the hospital. She sighed and braced herself, painting a make-believe smile on her features. Mr. T's eyes were gazing out the window, marveling at the city bustling around him. His eyes flickered to her and widened.

"Mrs. Lovett?" Mr. T had lost his voice, so the words were coughed out and sounded nothing like Mr. Todd. "What are you doing here?"

"Visitin' you, o' course," sang Mrs. Lovett, pulling a stool to his bedside and sitting atop it. "'ow are they treatin' you?"

Mr. Todd raised an eyebrow at her. "They told you about the scars, didn't they?"

Mrs. Lovett sighed exasperatedly. "Nothin' ever escapes ya, Mr. T. But it doesn't mean I'm not concerned o' ya."

Mr. Todd stared at her before turning away. Mrs. Lovett licked her teeth, fidgeting in the awkward silence. Curiosity gnawed her like a virus.

"Mr. T..." she began, fumbling with Pirelli's purse. "Jus'...'ow did you get those scars?"

"I would think a clever little girl like you would figure it out."

Mrs. Lovett glanced down at the floor, blushing lightly. "Well, I want t' be cer'ain. I want t' know the truth."

"Maybe the truth isn't what you want to hear."

"It don't ma'er," Mrs. Lovett responded. "But...if it's...if you don't want t' talk abou' it..."

Mr. Todd sighed. "Accidents and punishment is quite common when it comes to hard labor in Australia, Mrs. Lovett."

"Ah," was all Mrs. Lovett could manage to say.

"A day doesn't go by without finding myself slashed with a blade, whether it was accidental or my punishment. Either that or the welding torch."

"Welding...torch?" Mrs. Lovett squeaked. Mr. Todd nodded, acting as if they were merely chatting about the weather. "Tha's barbaric! Didn't those boss people 'ave any morals of any sort?"

"It wasn't always them," Mr. Todd muttered. "Sometimes the fellow prisoners would find something about you that they don't like, and decide to punish you for it. Obviously, they weren't punished for doing so."

Mrs. Lovett gasped. "Tha's terrible! Weren't there any rules or _anything_ over there? They're all monsters, savages!"

Mr. Todd wet his lips before speaking. "Not all of them."

"Pardon?" What was this? Mr. T defending a person? Maybe Benjamin Barker wasn't completely dead yet.

"There was a boy there..." Mr. Todd murmured, his inky eyes boring a hole in the quilt. "Not much older than that Toby...he was sent here for some absurd reason. Stealing a snuffbox or something like that. He was mischievous but kind. He helped me through my hard times."

"Bless the soul," Mrs. Lovetted whispered. "Where is 'e now? Did 'e escape with you?"

Mr. Todd's expression darkened immediately. "No. The others didn't like how innocent he was. Decided to flog him and teach him a lesson. He died the next day."

Mrs. Lovett's eyes widened. Never had she heard such of such cruelty of men in her life. Mrs. Lovett swallowed, unsure of what to say or do.

"M'sorry," she murmured, fiddling with her fingers.

"No matter anymore,"Mr. Todd said stonily. "No use crying over spilt blood."

Once again the two were thrust into unbearable silence. Mrs. Lovett was speechless at how Sweeney could talk about these matters with ease. It wasn't for a while till Mr. Todd finally spoke.

"I'm not getting better."

"Pardon?" Mrs. Lovett asked again, her heart skipping a beat.

"I'm getting worse."

"'Course you're not, Mr. T! You're get'in' 'ealthier now!" Mrs. Lovett insisted. But to her that was a downright lie. Mr. Todd was much paler than before, and his voice was barely a whisper. The paltry bit of life in his eyes was gradually ebbing away.

"I heard the doctors say I was getting worse when they thought I was sleeping," Mr. Todd muttered. "Said that the pneumonia was getting stronger. It's just like I said, Mrs. Lovett. Hospitals are pretty much a death sentence."

"But there's still a chance!" Mrs. Lovett pleaded. "S'not over yet! You're still alive and talkin' t' me righ' now, aren't ya?"

Mr. Todd remained mute. He leaned his head on the pasty wall, his breathing shallow and frightening. Mrs. Lovett shuddered, wondering if Mr. T could just die right then and there.

"I had a dream about Lucy again."

"Did you now?" Mrs. Lovett sighed.

Mr. T nodded. "She told me I wasn't far from the end...that she'll be happy with either result. If I survive or die. She said she missed me so...so much." Mr. T swallowed and turned away, but Mrs. Lovett knew that his eyes were poisoned with tears. "S-she said Johanna will be protected and loved by Anthony and to...to choose either path and it'll be fine."

Mrs. Lovett stared at her pallid hands, her eyes brimming with tears. Stupid Lucy...foolish Lucy...why did she tell Mr. T that him dying would be fine? Probably to have him all for herself in death...even when Lucy really wasn't dead.

"I began to wonder if I should just let vengeance pass and reunite with Lucy again," Mr. T whispered.

Mrs. Lovett's eyes widened. "Now I know you're absolut'ly sick! Mr. T, wos' got int' your 'ead? I though' you pract'cally lived jus' t' kill the Judge! Don't give up now, jus' because Lucy says so!"

Guilt gnawed Mrs. Lovett's soul. Perhaps...if she told Mr. T the truth about Lucy, if Mr. T realized she was still alive, he'd still have a will to live. He would no doubt be enraged at her, and abandon her forever, but he would be alive and only that would matter. She opened her mouth, sensing all the secrets and lies prepared to cascade out of her mouth. She hesitated for a fraction of a second and-

"Mrs. Lovett, I have to ask you to leave."

Mrs. Lovett whirled around to see Doctor Bullfrog again, tapping her on the shoulder. Pique and relief flooded Mrs. Lovett's heart as she reluctantly slid off of the stool and bade Mr. T farewell. She trudged out of the hospital, half her heart heavy and the other lightened. Perhaps it wasn't a good choice after all, telling Mr. T the truth.

Maybe it was all for the best.

**Anyone catch my Artful Dodger reference?!**

**If you review, you get any pie you want. I won't even bother putting up a menu. However, please try to get a REAL flavor of a pie (priest, fop, shepherd, etc. DO count as real) and not something like "poop pie" or "leaf tart". **

**The more people review, the more a hot singing barber realizes his love for his neighbor baker and proclaims it. **

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	9. Chapter 9

Mrs. Lovett traipsed back to the pie shoppe, her heart somewhat heavy. Guilt was a matter that shouldn't be underestimated. It clung to her soul and dragged it to the soles of her shoes, making it even harder to walk. Mr. T looked so heartbroken and pained in the hospital that Mrs. Lovett could barely stand it. How can she go on, drowning him in her deceit?

The sun was gradually slipping from the sky, dangling desperately on the clouds. Mrs. Lovett slipped into the pie shoppe, drinking in the unwavering silence. The shoppe was dusted and neatly organized, with a small jar of yellow roses that Toby gave her sitting atop a table. Mrs. Lovett smiled at the sight of them, fingering the velvety gold-streaked petals. They glowed like the sun, and were much more beautiful than gold in her opinion. But something about them made her shiver with apprehension.

The flowers were the exact shade of gold as Lucy's hair.

Mrs. Lovett moaned and rested her head on her hands. Why was that woman haunting her every thoughts and actions? She was tempted to shred those delicate petals, watch them drift defenselessly to the ground as pathetically as a torn butterfly, but she didn't want to hurt Toby.

But she couldn't hate Lucy. Who could hate someone so kindhearted and gave Benjamin Barker joy? There were days Mrs. Lovett tried so hard, but it made her even more fond of the woman. Nellie hated that part of Lucy. It was unnatural for a person to be perfect. It made them unreal.

_Don't think about that woman, Nellie_, Mrs. Lovett thought sourly to herself. _She's daft and dead now. No use dwelling in the past. _

Mrs. Lovett shifted her attention to Mr. T. She pitied the poor man, locked away in a hospital with unpleasant doctors and colorless pigments. Maybe if she brought something for him to eat, he would be somewhat happier. Or at least, in a slightly better mood than usual.

"Albert 'as tha' soup recipe o' 'is," Mrs. Lovett said to herself, clambering onto her feet. "Wos' good for a bad illness is a nice bowl o' soup, I think. I'll make 'im tha'. I'm sure 'e'll enjoy it." Benjamin Barker enjoyed dear Albert's soup before he was exiled. She wondered if Sweeney Todd would be fond of it too. She staggered to the parlor, rummaging in her mind to remember where she left that recipe. She dug around cluttered cupboards and stacks of trivial papers, hoping she didn't throw it away.

"Ma'am?" Mrs. Lovett whirled around to see Toby, who was curled up in the chair with a simple leather-bound book in his hand. "You're back already. 'Ow's Mr. T?"

Mrs. Lovett smiled. "'E'll be fine."

"'E _be_ fine sooner or la'er, but wot abou' now? You didn't tell me 'ow 'e is now," Toby pointed out. Mrs. Lovett's smile flickered slightly. This boy was too observant for his own good. She sighed mournfully.

"You always read be'ween the lines, don't ya, love? Fine. 'E's still very sick, but I know 'e'll get be'er." She returned searching for the recipe, brushing away assorted books and ornaments. "Where the bloody 'ell is tha' bleeding ol' recipe...?"

"Wot recipe?" asked Toby.

"Albert's soup recipe. Well, it's really Irish stew, but with a bi' o' Albert's style in it.I dunno where it went and I was 'opin' I could make it for us for dinner and bring some fo' Mr. T..." Mrs. Lovett explained, scratching her head.

"Oh, sorry ma'am, I wos usin' it fo' a bookmark," admitted Toby, whisking out the crinkled yellowing paper from the fine pages. Mrs. Lovett smiled with relief and took the recipe, scanning the ingredients.

"D'ya want anythin' else fo' dinner besides soup, Toby?" Mrs. Lovett asked, throwing open a cupboard and withdrawing knobbly potatoes and onions. Toby shook his head. "All righ' then. Where are those carro's..." She pulled out some pale tapering carrots from the cupboard. She sighed though. The recipe called for mutton, and even with her booming business it seemed rather expensive to buy.

"Ah well, there's nuttin' wrong with vegetable soup," murmured Mrs. Lovett as she poured icy water into a bowl and scrubbed the vegetables clean. She was thankful that she could get her mind off of Lucy and Mr. T just for a little while as she and Toby diced the vegetables and boiled a thick frothing stew over a fire. A savory aroma drifted into their noses, sharpening their hunger. Mrs. Lovett scooped two bowls of stew out of the pot and handed one to Toby.

"There ya go, dear," she said, stirring her soup with a stubby spoon. "Finish the stew up and then ya can eat those treacle tarts o' yours."

Toby nodded, politely sipping the thick stew like a gentleman. "I was thinkin'...I could give the treacle tarts t' Mr. T. I'm sure 'e'll appreciate 'em more than me."

Mrs. Lovett swallowed, feeling hot tears swathe her eyes. She shook her head. She didn't deserve to be this kind boy's caretaker.

"No, enjoy 'em yourself, Toby. Mr. T doesn't like sweets very much anyways." Mrs. Lovett nibbled a carrot, savoring the sweet flavor. "'sides, 'e doesn't eat very much anyways."

"Mm."

The two politely finished their stew in silence, which made Mrs. Lovett wallow in guilt again. Not only was she lying to Lucy, but she was probably sucking the joy out of Toby. She sighed for the umpteenth time, scraping the bowl with her spoon for any bits of stew left. Wasn't there a way to relieve herself from the burden, yet get what she wants?

"I'll jus' go an' take the lef'overs t' Mr. T, all righ'?" she asked quietly to Toby, who was retreating to the parlor.

"All righ' ma'am, be careful."

_Such a gentleman, 'e is,_ Mrs. Lovett thought to herself as she poured the stew into a bowl and covered it with a lid that was too big. Pulling a hat onto her head, Mrs. Lovett scurried out of the home.

In the night, London was much too cold. The rich aristocrats bundled themselves up with so much furs and velvet they looked like blubbery bears. Beggars huddled together, their warmth and life slowly seeping away from them. People scampered back to the refuges of crackling fireplaces, hot tea, and brandy. Mrs. Lovett hugged the bowl closer to her body, worried that the soup would be a frozen hunk of stew when she reached Mr. Todd.

_Oh my love is like a red, red rose_

_That's newly sprung in June;_

_Oh my love's like the melody_

_That's sweetly played in tune._

Mrs. Lovett froze, her legs tensing at the sound. The song was familiar, much too familiar. The upbeat tune swarmed in her head, blighting her mind with panic and apprehension. Only two people she knew knew this song, and one of them was in the hospital. The other, however...

_As fair art thou, my bonny lass,_

_So deep in love am I;_

_And I will love thee still, my dear,_

_Till a' the seas gang dry._

Undesired memories of Benjamin singing this very song to his sweet Lucy engulfed her mind like a storm. She whirled around, seeking the source of the voice, her hands growing damp with hot sweat.

_She remembers the song,_ Mrs. Lovett thought wildly. _How can she remember it even after the arsenic?_

The voice was now coarse and shrill, unwelcomed by the other sounds of London. It was like a knife slashing the air and marring Mrs. Lovett's eardrums. To her, it was a cacophony of betrayal and guilt.

_Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,_

_And the rocks melt wi' the sun;_

_I will love thee still, my dear,_

_While the sands o' life shall run._

There she was: Lucy, shivering the cold and bundled in an assortment of grubby shawls. She paced on quaking legs, like a newborn foal on its feet for the first time. A battered straw hat obscured her soiled face and hair, making it almost impossible to recognize her. But Mrs. Lovett knew that song and voice from anywhere. Even when coated with insanity, the voice was beautiful like Lucy. More beautiful that Nellie's could ever be.

Mrs. Lovett's mind screamed to run, to escape the woman's poisonous song and to return to Mr. Todd. But her legs were rooted to the spot, staring at Lucy as she trembled in the cold, her arms outstretched for alms as she sang Benjamin's song.

_And fare thee well, my only love,_

_And fare thee well, awhile!_

_And I will come again, my love_

_Though it were ten thousand mile._

Lucy's voice dwindled into a thread of inaudible whispers as pitying bystanders dropped rusting coins into her pale palm. Mrs. Lovett slowly backed away, her legs as stiff as ice. Why was this woman always haunting her like a living ghost, never giving her a moment of peace? Mrs. Lovett couldn't tear her eyes from the woman she once admired and hated at the same time. How _dare_ Lucy sing that song Benjamin sang to her? How _dare_ she still remind Mrs. Lovett that she was not and never will be the fancy of Benjamin Barker _or_ Sweeney Todd?

Mrs. Lovett fiercely brushed away angry tears from her eyes, hugging to soup to her body. No...Lucy was dead in Mr. Todd's mind. She was erased from his past and will never be rewritten in his present or future.

Mrs. Lovett was willing to do anything to protect Sweeney from the wretched beggar woman.

**Sorry. No Sweeney. You got that last time :). You may or may not get him next time. We'll see, aye?**

**The song Lucy sang was "Red, Red Rose" written in 1794. It's supposed to be Scottish or something. **

**If you review, you get any pie you want. I won't even bother putting up a menu. However, please try to get a REAL flavor of a pie (priest, fop, shepherd, etc. DO count as real) and not something like "poop pie" or "leaf tart". **

**If you don't review, a hot singing barber will DIE. **

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

Sweeney Todd breathed the death on the sheets swathing the fellow patients rotting away on their beds, prepared to die alone. He gazed at the sickened souls, knowing as well as they that when they close their eyes tonight, they'll never awaken. Mr. T vaguely wondered if that would be his fate. Birth and death for them would be over, and they'll be carried to Heaven or thrown into hell.**  
**

_Mostly hell_, mused Mr. T.

He lifted his hand, flexing his bony fingers. They looked so weak and vulnerable, as if it was slowly crumbling away into dust. He hated it with a passion. Mr. Todd didn't care that he was sick. No, he had been sick for fifteen years. The only thing he hated was how it made him feel so feeble.

Sweeney attempted to swallow down painful coughs, but failed. He was wracked with hacking coughs that made his throat sear with pain. He growled, feeling the blood froth in his throat. Bloody doctors and their medicines. They didn't make a difference. He closed his eyes, wondering what would happen if he could die right then and there. He wouldn't be afraid. He was never afraid of death. Why should he? Everyone was going to die in their lifetime...

_No,_ he thought fiercely to himself. _No dying now, not yet. Just a little longer..._

"Mr T?" a voice asked softly. Sweeney opened his eyes into paper-thin slits, peering at the person through his lashes. Of course. Mrs. Lovett. Mr. Todd opened his mouth to speak, but only coughs were emitted.

"There, there," Mrs. Lovett whispered, rubbing his back. "'ere, drink some soup, all righ'? Or wa'er? Which one?"

Mr. Todd didn't speak. He swallowed the excess blood and wiped the trail of rubies from his lips. He felt a cold liquid slide down his throat as Mrs. Lovett helped him drink a glass of water. He sputtered, spraying water with red hues back into the cup.

"S'okay dear, jus' drink it an' you'll feel be'er," Mrs. Lovett said tenderly. Mr. Todd obliged, forcing down gulps of water. It soothed his battered throat for a moment. He leaned back, resting his torso on the wall. Mrs. Lovett smiled bashfully, hugging a covered bowl close to her body. Sweeney tilted his head slightly, scrutinizing the woman before him.

"Why?" he rasped. Mrs. Lovett frowned with puzzlement.

"Why wot, love?"

"Why are you doing this?" he demanded. "Helping me and visiting me. Why?"

Mrs. Lovett's eyes softened as she raised a hand to stroke his cheek. He shied away from her touch uncomfortably.

"Coz I care abou' ya, Mr. T. I don't wan' you dyin' or gettin' worse, or think I don't want t' bother meself fo' ya."

Mr. Todd was perplexed. Why did she care for him so much? It was an easily realized fact that he was cold towards her, acknowledging her whimsical dreams as impossibilities. Yet this woman would smile kindly at him and lend a helping hand whether he wanted it or not.

"I brough' ya some soup tha' Toby an' me made," Mrs. Lovett added, uncovering the bowl to reveal a broth. "I though' tha' the 'ospital's food would be downrigh' awful."

Mr. Todd couldn't help but agree. It seemed as if hospitals didn't care whether or not their clients died, as long as they paid their hospital bills first. He hesitantly sipped some of the toasty broth. Though it didn't show on his face, Mr. Todd was...satisfied with it.

"Mrs. Lovett?" he asked quietly. Mrs. Lovett perked up, watching him with round and hopeful eyes.

"Yes, dearie?"

"...I-" Mr. Todd attempted to say, but was suddenly interrupted by agonizing coughs. He felt the boiling blood trickle down the side of his mouth and drip into the sloshing soup. Mrs. Lovett gasped as garnet red blood sprayed onto the graying quilts. Mr. Todd clutched Mrs. Lovett's slim fingers rightly as the coughs slashed his throat like a knife pummeling inside him. His head spun and throbbed painfully, fearing that he would just collapse.

The coughs soon died down, but his throat still scorched with agony. He felt extremely lightheaded, the blood leaving a metallic aftertaste in his mouth. His eyes flickered back to the blankets to find them blood-drenched.

"I'll ge' the doctors," Mrs. Lovett hurriedly declared. She made to leave, but Mr. Todd grasped her bony wrist.

"No," he breathed. "Don't. Stay."

Mrs. Lovett hesitated. She knew she could probably wriggle out of the man's weak grip and dash for the doctors, but there was a melancholic loneliness and pain that glossed his inky eyes. She obliged and seated herself on Mr. T's bedside, stroking his cold hand. This time he didn't avoid her warm touch.

"Are you sure you don't need 'em, Mr. T?" Mrs. Lovett asked.

"Yes." Mr. Todd closed his eyes. "They don't do any good, anyways."

Mrs. Lovett stiffly nodded, biting her lip. Mr. T sighed, his hand twitching slightly under hers.

"Mrs. Lovett...where is Lucy buried?"

"P-pardon?" Mrs. Lovett stuttered, her heart clenched with fear.

"Where's my wife buried?"

Mrs. Lovett ceased stroking his hand. She shifted in her seat, licking her chapped lips and her eyes darting around.

"I uh...I dunno, love," Mrs. Lovett muttered. "I was too sad t' attend the funeral...I didn't want me last sigh' o' 'er as 'er layin' there in the coffin...M'too scared t' see the grave."

Mr. Todd merely nodded. Mrs. Lovett fiddled with her gloves nervously, gnawing her lip continuously.

"Ya...ya aren't plannin' t' try lookin' fo' it, are you, Mr. T?" Mrs. Lovett questioned. "It'll be too painful, Mr. Todd."

He didn't respond, which sent Mrs. Lovett whirling in a storm of culpability. Suppose he did wish to seek Lucy's grave and found out she had none?

"Has the Judge been coming around the shop lately?" Mr. Todd inquired. Mrs. Lovett gave a sigh of relief.

"No, 'e 'asn't ye', love," Mrs. Lovett said. "See? Ya not missin' a thing."

Mr. Todd nodded absentmindedly, stirring the yellow soup with his spoon and vegetables swirl in circles.

"Did ya eat your medicine, Mr. T?" asked Mrs. Lovett.

"It isn't considered medicine. It's a poor excuse of a remedy. Probably took a leaf out of Pirelli's book, but worse."

"Always so negative abou' things, aren't ya, Mr. Todd?" sighed Mrs. Lovett. "Maybe if ya 'ad a 'appier perspective o' life, you wouldn't be sick."

"I'm not too sure that a happier outlook in life would be a no-fail cure, Mrs. Lovett."

"Well..." muttered Mrs. Lovett. Why was he always so stubbornly pessimistic? What happened to the optimistic, cheerful Benjamin Barker?

_Oh wait,_ she thought bitterly to herself. _He's dead._ Mrs. Lovett inattentively smoothed the wrinkles on Mr. T's quilt, her fingers rubbed raw after patting the coarse blanket repeatedly.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Mrs. Lovett saw something out of the window. She crept closer, pressing her nose against the thick glass, her warm breath fogging the window. Soft, pearly fluff drifted from the clouds onto London, as if bits of clouds were crumbling off and shrouding the city. Mrs. Lovett gasped, her mournful mood immediately brightening.

"Look, Mr. T, look!" she squealed. "It's snowin'! My eye, it's finally snowin'! I though' it would ne'er come this year!"

Mr. T blearily glimpsed out the window. Delicate snowflakes were dusted off the heavens and drifted lazily to the ground like feathers, luminous against the night sky. He sat up straighter, his eyes drinking in the pure sight. He hadn't seen snow for fifteen years. He had almost forgotten what snow was like. Even memories of it were faded and smudged, so all of it was unrecognizable. Mrs. Lovett exclaimed excitedly over it, declaring that she would teach Toby how to make a snowman when there was enough snow and teach the lad how to taste the fragile ice. Sweeney closed his eyes as memories cleared and played before him. They were still foreign to his mind, as if he was watching someone else's life through a looking-glass.

_"Johanna won't be too cold, would she?" Lucy asked worriedly, bundling the eight-month old baby with layers of blankets and knitted hats. She hugged the small baby close to her bosom, rocking her softly. Benjamin smiled and planted a soft kiss on his two angels' foreheads._

_"She's snug and warm, Lucy," he whispered, his soft lips tickling Lucy's ear. She giggled and pecked Benjamin's nose. He smiled lovingly, oblivious to the fact that his worst nightmares would come to life in less than half a year. _

_"This will be her first Christmas in three weeks," Lucy murmured. "How grand it would be! Our first Christmas with our beautiful girl."_

_"I've already got everything I want," Benjamin said. "A beautiful and virtuous wife and a lovely baby." Lucy smiled and cuddled in Benjamin's warm embrace. _

_Without warning, loud footsteps rang out from behind them. Nellie Lovett bounded up the stairs, her face gleaming with glee._

_"It's snowin'! Look ou'side, it's actually snowin'! S'abou' time too, s'already December!"_

_"Really?" gasped Lucy. She hurried to the window gazing outside. There it was: the crystalline snowflakes floating down to the ground like fairies. Lucy's face glowed with happiness at the sight of it._

_"Come on Benjamin, let's go outside!" she exclaimed. Benjamin followed Lucy and Nellie outside the barber shop into the crisp cold. The air smelled clean and pure, and the snowflakes were like kisses from angels. Lucy twirled in the thin sheen of snow, the hem of her dress soon laced with the delicate frost. Mrs. Lovett laughed and shouted with happiness as the two women danced and sang in the snow. _

_"When Johanna grows older, I'll teach 'er 'ow t' make the most dashin' snowman!" declared Nellie. Her eyes discreetly darted towards Benjamin Barker. Lucy didn't notice a thing; she was helping Johanna catch little snowflakes in her pudgy palm. _

_"S'already snowin'?" a deep voice yawned blearily behind Benjamin. Albert Lovett waddled outside, rubbing his eyes. He eyed the two joyous woman and chuckled to himself. "I say, I 'aven't e'er seen anyone 'appier than these two in me lifetime." _

_Benjamin beamed as Lucy rushed towards him, embracing him tightly. Benjamin clutched her fragile hands and twirled with her, clouds of snow billowing at their ankles. Nellie watched with a smile frozen to her features as she rocked Johanna in her arms, trying to teach the babe how to catch a snowflake on her tongue. Benjamin danced with his beloved for what seemed like an eternity, losing himself in a winter paradise with a snow angel. He swore to himself that moment that he would always dance with Lucy every winter, when the first snow fell._

_He didn't know that this would be the last time he would ever dance with his dear Lucy._

Mrs. Lovett watched Mr. Todd as he peacefully slept. She smiled sadly, gently taking back the lukewarm broth from his hands and pecking him softly on the cheek. She cast a fleeting glance at him before descending down the stairs and exiting the hospital.

"Poor man," she sighed to herself as the snowflakes gently kissed her skin. "Mus' be exhausted." She craned her neck towards the sky as snowflakes tickled her eyelashes, breathing in the fragrance of pure air. The pearly moon glowed in the velvety blue sky, bathing in a sea of stars. It was so beautiful it hurt.

Mrs. Lovett froze abruptly. There she was again, that madwoman, the devil girl. Lucy was crouched in the corner of the sidewalk, rocking back and forth. The snowflakes seemed to stab her and freeze her blood. She wasn't singing this time, thank goodness, and was barely noticeable in the night. Mrs. Lovett grew stiff and stride hurriedly past the beggar woman.

But out of the corner of her eye, Mrs. Lovett could tell Lucy was shivering under those ragged clothes. Her teeth chattered as puffs of her frigid breath billowed from her mouth. Mrs. Lovett felt pity towards the poor woman, and it was an unspoken fact that Lucy had no meals today. Mrs. Lovett sighed, glancing down at the bowl of tepid soup in her hands. She hesitantly approached Lucy and awkwardly handed her the bowl of soup.

Lucy stared at Mrs. Lovett with wide brown eyes, as if with disbelief. Mrs. Lovett felt the disapproving eyes of aristocrats burning her back and silently begged Lucy to take it. Lucy slowly reached out a shaking hand and accepted the soup, still gazing at Mrs. Lovett curiously. Mrs. Lovett backed away before hurrying towards the pie shoppe, refusing to look back.

**If you review, you get any pie you want. I won't even bother putting up a menu. However, please try to get a REAL flavor of a pie (priest, fop, shepherd, etc. DO count as real) and not something like "poop pie" or "leaf tart".**

**I typed this chapter while listening to Relient K's Deathbed. It's a wonderful song, and my most favorite lead singer from Switchfoot is featured at the end :D. **

**If you don't review, a love-stricken baker will be thrown into an oven. **


	11. Chapter 11

Mrs. Lovett sighed forlornly. Not only was Mr. Todd terribly ill, but her business wasn't...well, doing any better. Not that it could anyway, with the lack of meat. Nellie had contemplated on purchasing meat from the market with the bulging pocket money of hers, but immediately changed her mind. Toby had told her about a friend of his back in the factory. The friend, who formerly worked in a meat packing factory, had described with vivid description to Toby how the meat had rat dung and rat corpses churned into it, and how it's coated with sawdust, grime, and spittle. It's no wonder that Mrs. Mooney used those pussy cats.

She rapped her finger on the flour-dusted counter, waiting listlessly for something interesting to happen. Unfortunately, exciting events don't just pop out of the blue. She rubbed the powdery flour from her fingers, rearranging Albert's picture, and attempted to busy herself with typical house-hold duties. However, Mrs. Lovett wasn't one who enjoyed a housewife's chores like Lucy did, and gave up soon after she started.

"Maybe I could jus' cut up some o' those stray dogs in the alley," Mrs. Lovett pondered out loud. "At leas' then I could get meself some meat..."

She grimaced at the thought of it. Those filthy dogs were probably as rotten as the moldy sausages in Toby's friend's factory. She brushed the thought aside as she dusted her hands off. Mrs. Lovett dearly wished that Mr. Todd could at least come back home. It had already been a week and a half or so since he was admitted into the hospital. She hadn't seen him since two days ago, and that already felt like an eternity.

"'Ow in the world did I survive fifteen years?" she grumbled to herself.

Maybe a nice breather would help. Toby was out enjoying himself in the snow, searching for his old friends he had left in the factory. Mrs. Lovett quickly bundled herself up in knobbly hats and itchy scarves without ado. She hadn't been out in the snow for a long time, even when she wasn't busy. Perhaps this would relieve her from all the stress she drowned in.

Mrs. Lovett yanked the door open, breathing in the nippy November air that made her nose tingle. She smiled when her boots crunched melodically on the snow as she ambled out of the pie shop. The feathery sheet of snow was already spoiled with slushy footprints of all shapes and sizes. Mrs. Lovett felt disappointed. This wasn't nearly as much snow as she hoped there would be.

She strolled through the streets of London, going nowhere in particular. She was like a shadow to London: everyone knew she was there, but no one bothered to acknowledge her. Mrs. Lovett scowled, feeling awfully desolate. She kicked the snow, sending billows of powdery white flying in the air, earning a disapproving glare from a passerby. Mrs. Lovett bit her tongue, wallowing in shame and resentment. So what if she wanted to play in the snow? It wasn't a crime. Old bleeders.

Mrs. Lovett squeezed her way through the busy crowd of people and seated herself on a bench. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes to hide the never-ending flow of people that passed her. How was she supposed to get any peace with all these buggers yakking and walking about?

She opened one eye, spying a blissful family run amok in the snow. Her heart pulsed with envy as the handsome husband pulled his little wife and children close and kissed them on the forehead. That was the life she never would have. That was the life Benjamin and Lucy Barker was destined to have...until now.

"Maybe I can 'ave it..." she murmured softly, resting her head on her hands. Maybe her whimsical dreams would come true, after the Judge was killed. Mr. Todd could finally decide that he wanted to start over again, and take her and Toby to the sea. She wouldn't even mind little Johanna, she'd gladly treat her like her own daughter. However, that would prove a little difficult in some cases. Mr. Todd was most likely right; Johanna would probably look too much like her mother.

Mrs. Lovett drew curlicues and fanciful shapes in the snow with the toes of her boots, imagining a perfect glowing life by the sea, with a jovial family of four. How grand it would be, to have a husband and children! Nellie always wanted children, but Albert was rather disapproving to the idea. He believed that he was too old for frenzied children.

Nellie clenched her fists, a jealous flame of anger igniting inside. Why was that _woman_ blessed with Benjamin and Johanna? Why did _she_ get everything and then threw the two away when she selfishly took the arsenic? Mrs. Lovett gritted her teeth, twisting her hands so violently her fingers were tangled together. If it was her that won the heart of Benjamin and the mother of Johanna, she wouldn't thoughtlessly abandoned both to their doomed fates. Nellie strained to hate the woman, hate Lucy with her heart for raining misery upon everyone.

_Why e'en bother? _a sly voice hissed in her ear. _You can't 'ate a blessin'. _

Mrs. Lovett sighed pitifully, tracing nameless shapes on the snow with her finger. _It'll come out all righ' at the end,_ she thought sternly. _When the Judge's as dead as a doornail, all me dreams would come true... _

* * *

_Nellie Lovett sat stiffly on the chair as Lucy Barker cheerfully sketched, humming. Nellie didn't really understand why she was doing this. She hated sitting still and wasting time, even if it meant that her face was on a piece of paper. But really, who would buy a picture with Nellie's face on it? Lucy was wasting her time and skill, sketching the baker. _

No one wants t' buy a pic'ure o' me_, Nellie thought miserably, though she kept her composure. _I don't e'en want a pic'ure o' me.

_"Don't worry, love, it's almost finished," sang Lucy. Nellie sighed impatiently, restraining the urge to scratch the itch on her nose. _

_"Why do ya want t' draw me anyways, Lucy?" Nellie asked. "Ya should be drawin' somethin' tha' people would actually want t' buy. Like a pre'y sunset, or a lake."_

_Or Benjamin Barker._

_Lucy giggled softly, brushing fine strokes on the smooth paper. "Someone may want to buy your picture, Nellie." She unconsciously rubbed her bulging stomach, where the nine-month old baby lurked. _

_"For kindlin', maybe," muttered Nellie, absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on her dress._

_"There!" Lucy exclaimed, her pretty mouth smiling. "I've finished! Take a look, Nellie dear. Nothing to be afraid about."_

_Nellie tentatively slid off of the seat and peered at the sketch over Lucy's shoulder. She felt her jaw drop._

_Lucy had portrayed Nellie as a lovely little lass without a care in the world, gazing peacefully out the window. Nellie involuntarily reached out a finger and traced the delicate lines of her smoky portrait, marveled at how pretty this sketch of her was. Oh, if only she looked this handsome and well-mannered like the sketch! Lucy the angel made anything look more exquisite than in real life with her pencils. _

_"Do you like it?" Lucy asked nervously. Nellie slowly nodded, unsure of what to say._

_"Ya...ya done me too much justice, Lucy," she managed to croak. "I can't possibly look like this."_

_"I-is it bad?" Lucy murmured timidly. Nellie vigorously shook her head._

_"O' course not, pet! Bu' it looks like a model or a princess. I know for a fact I don't look anythin' like a princess."_

_"Oh, of course you do!" beamed Lucy, offering Nellie the picture. Nellie hesitantly accepted the sketch, drinking in the pretty picture. "You are always so modest, aren't you, Nellie? You're so lovely!" _

_Nellie's mouth slowly turned into a smile as she handed back the picture. Suddenly, Benjamin Barker strode into the room, a joyous smile painted on his handsome features. Butterflies fluttered excitedly in Nellie's stomach as her heart skipped a beat. _

_"Hello, ladies!" sang Benjamin, pulling Nellie into a one-armed hug and kissing Lucy on the lips. "What are you all up to? What's this?" Benjamin tilted his head, gazing at the picture in Lucy's hand. "My goodness! Lucy, did you draw Nellie?"_

So it _does_ look like me?_ Nellie thought, stunned. _

_"It's beautiful, Lucy! Nellie, you look absolutely stunning, and in real life too," complimented Benjamin. Nellie felt her pasty cheeks blush a blotchy shade of red. Benjamin hugged Lucy close, planting sweet kisses on her eyes and lips, burying his face in her sweet hair. Envy coursed through Nellie like a poison, yearning to feel such love and affection. Albert never did so, and she didn't want him to. He felt too much of a father to her than a husband. _

_Suddenly, Lucy paled and stumbled, clutching Benjamin's arm tightly. Nellie gasped in fright as Benjamin hastily steadied lucy, who was heaving for breath and grasping her stomach. _

_"Is it time already?" gasped Benjamin. "I thought it wasn't due for another three weeks! We need a midwife!"_

_"You go fetch the midwife, Mr. Barker!" Mrs. Lovett quickly said, gently laying Lucy onto her bed. "I'll take care o' 'er. Run! Go!"_

_Benjamin didn't hesitate. He quickly kissed Lucy on the forehead before dashing off, skidding out of the pie shoppe and sprinting as fast as he could to the midwife. Nellie bit her lip and rushed to Lucy's side, her heart beating as wildly as a war drum. She never assisted in child labor before, except the time when she saw her aunt give birth to her cousin. But Nellie wasn't sure if that counted. The baby was miscarried._

_"All righ', Lucy, calm down," Nellie murmured. "Breath deeply, all righ'? In and out...in and out..."_

_Lucy stared at Mrs. Lovett with frantic eyes, gasping for air. Nellie felt hot sweat prick her forehead as she rushed for a basin of hot water and clean rags. What in the world was she supposed to do? Where was the midwife?_

_"N-N-Nellie?" gasped Lucy, her eyes wide and frightened. "I...it..." Lucy uttered a scream through her teeth as she clutched the quilts so tightly her knuckles were pure white. _

_"Oh no, oh no, oh no!" Nellie moaned. "Where the bloody 'ell is tha' midwife?" She scampered to Lucy, taking her sweaty hand. "All righ', pet, when it 'urts, jus' squeeze me 'and, ya understand?"_

_Lucy swallowed a moan, her breathing becoming alarmingly shallower. Without warning, Lucy squeezed Nellie's hand so tightly that Nellie swore her bones would crumble into pieces. Nellie clenched her teeth, aghast at the immense pain. _

_"S'all righ', Lucy, the midwife will be 'ere soon, jus' 'old on..."_

_"I don't know if I can hold on!" wheezed Lucy. _

Oh no. Don't give birth now, please don't! _Nellie thought with horror. _I don't know 'ow to deliver babies!

_"I'm back! The midwife's here!" Benjamin's melodic voice was wrought trembling with fear as the young midwife and her assistant swiftly swept to Lucy's side. Mrs. Lovett bashfully scurried away from the room as Lucy's screams pierced her ears. Benjamin paced fretfully in Mrs. Lovett's pie shop, wringing his hands. Lucy's yelps seemed to stab Benjamin and his legs felt weak. Nellie shyly patted Benjamin's arm comfortingly._

_"She'll be all righ'," Nellie insisted. "Ya first baby! Isn't this grand, Mr. Barker? Wot are ya goin' t' name 'im? Or 'er?"_

_The attempt of changing the subject didn't work very well. Benjamin mouthed something incoherent as he continued to pace back and forth like a pendulum. Lucy's voice moaned as the midwife urged her to push. Benjamin was so pale Nellie was afraid he would crumple to the ground senseless. _

_Without warning, a small, pitiful cry erupted in the room. Benjamin froze, his eyes wide with wonder and anxiety. Nellie felt excitement bubble inside her as she peeped inside the room. She gasped. _

_A beautiful, though rather ruddy, baby was swathed tenderly with snowy sheets. Lucy looked somewhat bedraggled, cornflower strands of hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. She was still lovely like an angel, crooning softly to the young girl. Nellie felt happiness blossom in her, but a poisonous jealousy seep inside her. She yearned so badly to hug a baby she could call her own, to be a mother and a wife. Why was Lucy blessed with everything?_

_"Lucy, are you all right?" Benjamin softly asked, nuzzling his face in her sweet hair. "The baby...she's beautiful. Just like her mother." _

_Lucy giggled shyly, her voice rather cracked and weak. "What shall we name her?" _

_Benjamin gently stroked the little baby's soft cheek. The child's whimper died down as it fumbled to grasp her father's finger. Envy swelled in Nellie's throat and she couldn't utter a sound._

_"Johanna?" suggested Benjamin. Lucy smiled her angelic beam, nodding._

_"Johanna Barker," Lucy whispered, caressing the baby's delicate head. She closed her eyes, her feathery voice half-singing, half-humming._

_"_Nothing's gonna harm you, Johanna, not while we're around..._" _

* * *

Mrs. Lovett dusted the fallen snow off of her itchy coat, rising from the bench. Why was she drowning in memories? Memories weren't real anymore. They were merely reflections of a life she no longer knew, plaguing her mind. Everyone in that memory was dead: Mr. and Mrs. Barker, Johanna, the midwife, even she was dead. Mrs. Lovett was no longer the Nellie from long ago, right? 

Mrs. Lovett trudged through London, keeping her head low so no one would speak to her. Why did she busy herself with recollections, anyways?

_Think of the future,_ Mrs. Lovett thought sternly to herself. Mrs. Lovett sighed wistfully as her plans and hopes sang like a linnet bird's song in her mind. She could see herself at the seaside, in a cozy cottage with Mr. T. Johanna and Toby would playfully dance in the ocean as Mrs. Lovett, not Lucy, was the apple of Mr. Todd's eye.

Even the mere thought of it made Mrs. Lovett laugh coldly. Mr. Todd no longer had an apple for his eye or however you said it. Mrs. Lovett shoved the door open, sending flurries flying in the pie shoppe.

Toby sat at one of the tables, clutching a crinkled and smudged letter in his hands. Mrs. Lovett frowned quizzically as Toby whirled around, his eyes wide with fear.

"Wot's wrong, dearie?" Mrs. Lovett asked slowly. "Ya look as if somebody died."

Toby shook his head, and Mrs. Lovett suddenly caught sight of the letter's envelope. The hospital. Her heart clenched with fear as she stumbled towards Toby, quaking with fear.

"Toby, wot did the le'er say? Tell me!" she pleaded.

"S'abou' Mr. T," Toby said gravelly. "'E's worse. They're sendin' 'im t' the 'ospital in Ireland...but they don't think 'e's gonna make it."

**(sings) Who would buy my sweet hot pies, a pie for a review! **

**Did you know that if you don't review, a hot singing barber drowns at sea?**

**You know you're crazy when you are at a pet shop and start singing "Green Finch and Linnet Bird" to the birdies in the cage. **

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	12. Chapter 12

The frigid wind whistled in Mrs. Lovett's ears as she scampered through London. The weather was like the snowy version of The Flood, flurries showering to the ground and obscuring her sight. Mrs. Lovett's feet slipped in the powdery sea as she shoved her way through the retreating crowd in London. She couldn't hear the yowling wind or the people's cross retorts, only the rushing blood pounding in her ears.

Toby was lying. No, the hospital was lying. They had to be! Mr. Todd just can't be dying! The mere thought that the strongest man Mrs. Lovett ever knew was dying terrified her immensely. Her pace quickened as she darted towards the hospital, ignoring the merciless cold that nipped her skin. Mrs. Lovett didn't even realize that she was wearing her coat backwards.

She hurriedly brushed the snow out of her face and tugged the hospital door open with all her might. Snow crumbled off Mrs. Lovett's form as she sprinted up the winding flights of stairs, pushing the silly nurses and doctors aside. Without even asking permission, Mrs. Lovett threw the Mr. Todd's room door open.

"Mr. T!" she cried, dashing to his bedside. Mr. Todd was extremely weak and couldn't even sit up. He lay limply on the thin mattress, his skin whiter than the storming snow outside. He blearily opened his glossy eyes.

"Mrs. Lovett?" he coughed, his voice thinner than thread. "What are you doing here?"

"T' visit you, o' course!" Mrs. Lovett said exasperatedly. "The doctors...they said..."

"Ah, yes." Mr. Todd closed his eyes again. "They said I was dying. Heh, I almost forgot."

"'Course ya ain't dyin', Mr. T" Mrs. Lovett lied through her teeth. "All they said wos tha' you're goin' t' an 'ospital in Ireland or wherever-"

"They're much worse liars than I thought," Mr. Todd said casually.

"'Ow can you be so nonchalan' abou' this?" Mrs. Lovett demanded. "Mos' people would care jus' a _wee_ bit if they were dyin'."

"Why should I?" Mr. Todd's eyes flipped open, somewhat irritated. "I don't see why I should be scared. We're all dying, aren't we? We're all going to die. Even you, Mrs. Lovett, even I. What have I to live for? Besides," he raised an eyebrow at Mrs. Lovett. "I thought you said I wasn't dying."

Mrs. Lovett gripped the quilts tightly until her fingerprints were imprinted on the cloth. "Wot abou' Johanna, Mr. T? Wot abou' Toby? Wot abou'...?" She quickly shut her mouth.

Mr. Todd didn't respond and turned his head away.. Mrs. Lovett sat on the bed, her heart pumping with despair. The sickening urge to reveal Lucy's survival to Mr. Todd surged inside her. There was such a slim, slim chance that it would prompt him to stay alive...

"Mr. T..." Mrs. Lovett started. Her tongue felt like a stone and she could barely form her words. Mr. Todd remained immobile, staring at the feeble flame in the fireplace. "I-I've got somethin' t' tell ya..."

"What?"

"Uh..." How was she going to say this? Was he going to be angry? What if he is heartbroken that his dear Lucy was insane and rotting in the streets? "Y-ya see...abou' wot I said..." She licked her chapped lips, her heart beating wildly and the butterflies in her stomach fluttering like crazy. Mrs. Lovett strained to cough out the words, to just spill out the truth, but it didn't come. It lodged itself in her throat, blocked with fear and cowardice. Mrs. Lovett hadn't the courage to tell.

"Spit it out, won't you?" Mr. Todd said sharply. Mrs. Lovett gulped, her heart stamping a tattoo on her chest. Her soul screamed to tell the truth, to let it all out, but her heart convinced her otherwise.

"Er...t-the Judge! Ya see, the Judge sent a lil' messenger over t' me shop, sayin' tha' 'e wants t' make an appoin'ment t' get 'imself a shave sometime uh...next week or la'er," Mrs. Lovett blabbed. "Can't do it earlier coz 'e's got t' be in so many trials and all this week..."

Mr. Todd furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes unreadable. Mrs. Lovett avoided his penetrating stare, afraid that he could read the lie in her eyes. Would that even tempt him to live?

"Mrs. Lovett." Mrs. Lovett looked up hopefully as she picked the globs of snow off her coat.

"Yes?"

"You'll kill the Judge for me when I pass on, won't you?" Mr. Todd said. Mrs. Lovett gaped at him, the chips of snow slipping from her fingers.

"B-but Mr. T!" Even the obvious snitch wouldn't work. She hastily lowered her voice so no eavesdropping doctors could hear. "I though' all ya cared abou' wos t' kill the bloody ol' Judge! Why are ya givin' up?"

A sardonic smile tugged on Mr. Todd's lips. "It's not like I have a choice. For your information, I would gladly kill the Judge instead of this. But considering that I'm about to be shipped off to another godforsaken spit of land anytime soon..."

"Then why don't ya try fightin' the illness?" Mrs. Lovett cried. "If ya really wanted t' kill the bleeder, you'd make a be'er effort t' get well."

"I do want to kill him," said Mr. T. "But I yearn to reunite with Lucy much more than I want to slit a filthy throat."

Mrs. Lovett's heart dropped. She clutched her head, gnawing her lip so much it threatened to bleed. A raging war of thoughts and screams battled in her mind. She knew she should tell Mr. Todd about Lucy, she _had_ to, else he would just let himself die! But what if he was livid that she kept the secret from him all this time, or devastated that Lucy was addled in the mind?

_Dear God, what should I _do? Mrs. Lovett thought desperately to herself.

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted when Mr. T started to cough again. She hastily made to fetch a glass of water, but Mr. Todd swiftly grabbed her wrist, beckoning her to stay. Mrs. Lovett gladly obeyed, though she was still worried for Sweeney. She understood that the poor man was lonely in this hospital with death written all over it, but he may need a doctor.

"After you kill the Judge," rasped Mr. Todd, his eyelids drooping with fatigue. "Tell Johanna I always love her...and that I'm sorry for never being there for her..."

"Don't talk like tha', Mr. T, you're scarin' me!" Mrs. Lovett implored.

"Promise me, Mrs. Lovett, that you'll tell Johanna that," Mr. Todd beseeched. "Promise me...I don't want to leave her to think that she never had a real father that loved her...promise me that."

The lump in her throat swelled as she nodded. Mr. Todd's features relaxed on his bed, closing his eyes. His grip on Mrs. Lovett's wrist slackened and his hand limply dropped back onto the quilts.

Mrs. Lovett watched with worried eyes as Mr. Todd drifted into an uneasy sleep. She swallowed down a scream of anger and nearly beat her fist against the walls. Why didn't she tell him the truth? Why didn't she give Mr. Todd a reason to live? Mrs. Lovett struggled to fight her greedy heart, but her courage was immediately sapped and she was left with filthy lies and a guilty soul.

Mrs. Lovett slowly straightened, breathing heavily. She stroked Mr. Todd's face and wrenched away, sprinting out of the hospital. Mr. Todd was going to Ireland in three days, and Mrs. Lovett doubted she'll ever see him again.

The snowstorm had weakened during her stay at the hospital. No one dared to come out during the icy night, so the sea of snow was untouched. The sky was a dark silky indigo, with pinpricks of crystal stars glistening against the darkness. A thin sliver of the hoary moon beamed at her like a mocking grin. The pale snow glittered like diamonds as Mrs. Lovett tentatively strode through it, her footprints all alone.

"I will kill the bloody Judge," Mrs. Lovett sniveled, her heart searing so terribly she could barely walk. "I will kill 'im for makin' Mr. T suffer so, and I won't even wait for 'im t' come an' get a shave. I'll jus' march int' 'is 'ouse and throw 'im int' some oven and watch 'im burn and scream t' death. I don't care if I get caugh' and killed, as long as I kill Turpin and tell Johanna wot I promised Mr. Todd, I'm 'appy." She tasted the sweet flavor of revenge her lips.

But her mind wandered to little innocent Toby, who was her last ray of sunshine in a dastardly day. She couldn't leave the poor soul to fend for himself, after all he has already been through! Mrs. Lovett groaned and leaned on a lamppost, utterly confused and melancholic. What in the world was she going to do?

From the corner of her eye, Mrs. Lovett spotted a dark shadow of a building. She hesitantly approached it to find out it was one of London's many churches. The newly-fallen snow was unperturbed and tranquil, so there was no sign of life around. She ambled over, her heart pumping nervously. Mrs. Lovett never really went to church, for her family used to live in the countryside and was too far away to attend church, and she felt so awkward to abruptly start in the middle of her life. But perhaps...perhaps if she tried hard enough, the God that all the friars exclaimed about would pity her and grant her prayer...

Mrs. Lovett tugged at the door, only to find it locked. She sighed miserably, sliding to the ground. Would God still listen to her even if she wasn't in a church?

"Dear God in 'eaven," she whispered, closing her eyes to hide away the world. "If ya 'ear me, please let Mr. T live. Please let 'im get well and all 'ealthy again, and not die. I won't ask for anything else, please jus' cure 'im."

A soft wind caressed her face and crooned a soothing song in her ear, bathing her in the sensation of hope and peace. Then all was silent.

**Did you know that every time you review, you help cure a sick hot singing barber? **

**T'is true.**

**I rewrote this chapter a tad, and am contemplating about sending Mr. T to Ireland. I mean, he's still going somewhere, but I don't know if it should be Ireland. I looked around in books from the nineteenth centuries, and they didn't regard the Irish very kindly.  
**

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	13. Chapter 13

_If you could change anything in the past, what would it be?_

Mrs. Lovett had been asked that countless times back when she was just a carefree child, where her scrawny friends would crowd around and ask odd yet entertaining questions. Back then, Nellie would chortle and list unimportant events, like how she wouldn't have bought that silly hat she no longer wore, or how she would've been kinder to her dead sister.

Mrs. Lovett wondered what her answer would be if someone asked her the same question now. The list was never-ending now, but it was merely a trivial record of what could've happened but never will.

The golden sun grinned mockingly at her in the baby blue sky. The day was warm and pleasant, but in reality it was cruel and wretched. Mrs. Lovett's senses were dulled, and her usual lively songs were reduced to tragic trembling melodies. Her voice constantly shook and trailed away into whispers, and her shadow was weeping uncontrollably, though Mrs. Lovett herself never shed a tear.

Mr. Todd was going to leave tomorrow. _Tomorrow,_ and she may never see him again. Mrs. Lovett didn't want to be alone anymore, rotting away with an empty heart and an unloved soul. But for a miserable wench like her, it was impossible. All that she ever dreamed of was slipping away from her fingers like flour sifting from her hands.

Toby needn't an explanation before understanding what was going on. When Mrs. Lovett returned home that day, he wordlessly stood up from the bench and embraced her. Mrs. Lovett felt foolish and heartless when she mulled over her bitter life. What about Toby? He was still alive and well, right?

Mrs. Lovett readjusted her gloves, the scraps of lace itching her terribly. She needed to see Mr. Todd again, even if he was sleeping or in the middle of a hallucination. She didn't want the poor man to think that she abandoned him during his last days. She smoothed her violet dress nervously before scurrying out of her room.

Toby had aroused earlier than Mrs. Lovett did. He was gripping a cream-colored paper in his hand, his dark eyes scanning the etched words. Mrs. Lovett didn't spare a glance at the letter, believing bitterly that Toby was reading the same condemning letter again, hoping that there was a loophole he had missed. Toby suddenly looked up and gasped.

"Ma'am! There's a le'er from the 'ospital-"

At the word 'hospital', Mrs. Lovett's mind silenced Toby's voice completely. She swiftly darted out of the pie shop and slammed the door behind her, straining to escape the pain and heartache. She immediately regretted what she had done. Poor Toby had already been neglected all his life, the least Mrs. Lovett could do was acknowledge him. It was too late though, she was already heading towards the hospital.

Cold droplets pierced Mrs. Lovett's skin and sent an icy shiver through her body. She groaned inwardly and stomped the slush angrily. Merciless rain was eating away the crystalline snow. She hated rain with all her heart. Rain always destroyed beauty and hope, and all the good in life. Every step she took seemed to make her burdens grow heavier and heavier.

Mrs. Lovett slunk into the hospital and trembled. The sickbay had an unfamiliar cold aura that wasn't present before. It made Mrs. Lovett's soul quake in fear inside her. It was as if Death itself was present and mocking the fretting souls.

She trekked up the never-ending flight of stairs, feeling more and more anxious. Call it woman's intuition, or a premonition, but Mrs. Lovett dreaded encountering the infirmary room where Mr. Todd was jailed in. Why, though? Her stomach churned uneasily as she tentatively pulled open the door. The air smelled bitter and cold, as if all life and warmth was sapped away. She poked her head inside and gasped.

Mr. Todd's bed was empty. All the blankets were folded neatly as if no one ever lay on it. Where was Mr. Todd? Mrs. Lovett frantically glanced around the room, but there was no Sweeney. Only dying blokes preparing for the afterlife.

Mrs. Lovett uttered a scream of shock, her mind whirring like mad. Was Mr. Todd dead? Did they wait too long to send him to Ireland? She burst into the room, ripping the blankets from the bed as if hoping Sweeney was merely hiding himself in the quilts. Hot tears welled in her tears as she cried for Mr. Todd, her voice cracking. She rushed out of the room and bounded down the stairs, nearly tumbling down to the ground. She suddenly snatched the nearest nurse and shoved her against the wall, blinded with fear and rage.

"Where's Mr. Todd?" she demanded. The petite nurse gulped, her green eyes darting nervously.

"He...he's gone," she whispered. Mrs. Lovett's eyes widened, her grip slackening.

"Wot did ya say?" Mrs. Lovett whispered. "Gone? As in dead?" Suddenly, her pain drained away and was replaced with fury. "'E can't be dead! 'Ow can ya let someone die, eh? Aren't you a bloody 'ospital with doctors? Aren't ya supposed to make sure no one _dies_?"

"M-ma'am..." the nurse stammered. Mrs. Lovett backed away, her legs trembling. Mr. Todd couldn't be dead...he can't...her sight blurred with tears.

"He isn't dead, ma'am!" the nurse exclaimed. Mrs. Lovett froze like a statue.

"W-wot?"

"He got better!" the nurse yelped. "He got better, so Doctor Warner sent a letter to you saying he was returning...didn't you...get the letter?"

Mrs. Lovett felt her jaw drop. The letter..._of course_! Toby had the letter and was about to show it to her before she ran off! Mrs. Lovett hesitated before dashing out of the cursed hospital as fast as she could. The freezing rain was thundering the ground now, chilling the twigs and leaves to ice. Her skin was snagged with the unbearable cold. Mrs. Lovett waterlogged galoshes tripped her constantly, sending her sliding in the gray slush. Mrs. Lovett didn't care if she was soaked to the skin or if she scabbed herself. She had to get to Mr. Todd.

There was a glossy carriage ahead of her, parked in front of her pie shoppe. That had to be Mr. Todd! Mrs. Lovett urged herself to sprint faster as she darted through the crowd of people. She skidded to a stop and crashed onto the sidewalk.

"Doctor!" Mrs. Lovett wheezed, clambering onto her feet. The ashy slush clung to her watched coat, but she paid no attention to it. A doctor exited the carriage, readjusting his round spectacles and straightening his linen collar.

"Mrs. Lovett," he acknowledged her politely. "I uh...see you were out." His eyes glanced down at her wet dress. Mrs. Lovett sheepishly shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Where's Mr. Todd?" Mrs. Lovett breathed.

"He's inside, my nurses are helping him, and so is your little boy," said the doctor. Mrs. Lovett heaved a sigh of relief, completely oblivious to the fact that she was sopping wet with rain.

"So...'e got be'er?" Mrs. Lovett asked hopefully. "'E's fine now?"

The man remained silent and Mrs. Lovett recoiled with apprehension. She felt her heart skip a beat with fear and bile crawling up her throat.

"Well?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"He isn't better," the doctor said quietly. "The disease weakened Mr. Todd immensely. He isn't completely cured, and he never will."

"Wot...wot do you mean?" Mrs. Lovett moaned.

"He will die," the doctor admitted gravely. "Pneumonia is too strong for his body, and it'll slowly eat his life away. He'll have at the most two years left to live. But we feel that it is best if he...stayed home where he'll be happier than in a hospital."

Mrs. Lovett's heart broke. She backed away from the man, her small back pressed against the door slick with rain. She shook violently, pressing her cold fingers against her lips. This all couldn't be true. It was a trick, a nasty ploy to upset her, to kill her. Mr. Todd couldn't be condemned to death. It was impossible. Improbable! She could see the doctor mouth words of condolences, but his voice dissolved away. Only three words repeated in Mrs. Lovett's head: _He will die._

Mrs. Lovett remained in the vicious rain as the doctor disappeared in the carriage and trotted away, no longer bothered about the distraught baker. The frigid water streamed down her pale face and hair, intertwining with her hot tears. Mrs. Lovett didn't care if she was going to catch her death. She needed the rain, craved its cold embrace. One couldn't tell if someone was weak in the rain.

He will die. He will live, but Mr. Todd will die too soon. He'll never grow old together with her by the sea, or embrace Johanna close to him, or live the life he was so terribly close to have. Why? Why was life so cruel and ruthless? How would it feel to know that if you fell asleep one night, you would never see dawn again, yet never know when it'll happen?

Mrs. Lovett sank to the ground, melting with the rain and snow. She gripped the handfuls of snow tightly, squeezing her eyes tight. Tears gushed out of her eyes and dotted the snow, devouring the pure crystals away, like rain. Tears were as pitiless as rain.

Mrs. Lovett crawled back onto her feet, staggering inside. The nurses already disappeared, and Toby thought it was best if he wasn't present. Mrs. Lovett shivered, her teeth chattering with the cold as she limped into her parlor. Mr. Todd was barely awake, resting in the nest of blankets. Mrs. Lovett halted suddenly, gripping so tightly on her skirt that her knuckles were sallow. Was Mr. Todd always so frail and pale? Life was already ebbing away from his tired body, and it seemed as if Death was right in this room, cradling Mr. Todd and drinking in his dwindling life. Mrs. Lovett reached out a shaking hand and grasped Mr. Todd's fingers, repeatedly reminding herself that Mr. Todd was still alive and that was all that counted. Right?

Mrs. Lovett uttered a whimper, resting her head in her wintry hands. She swore to help Mr. Todd live out the rest of his life after he killed the Judge, to steer him away from bitterness and pain and lead him to a life kinder and warmer than he imagined. She promised to bring him to the sea where the ocean would carry away his agony and where the sand would soften his life. Mrs. Lovett pledged with her life that she wouldn't let Mr. Todd die alone.

But she was wrong. Mrs. Lovett broke all her promises.

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**Sorry for the long wait. But I felt really depressed and couldn't write at all. You may all be thinking "Depression makes your writing better!" In some cases, yes, but not for me. **

**And the interesting thing is that I'm not depressed because my life sucks. It's because I read a book with a very bittersweet tragic chapter. Those who read Little Women might know what I'm talking about...**

**Not to mention my sister made me depressed too. With a story. Yeah.**

**Thanks to all those who stuck to the story and reviewed!**

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